Phantom Companions
by Misty Breyer
Summary: Two cousins are transported from their twentyfirst century home to the shore of Erik's lakeside lair during a thunderstorm. The girls latch on and turn Erik's cozy little world upside down. EOC ROC
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO characters but Anna and Brooke were fashioned from my brain.

Special Note: This is my first phan fic. (So please be nice when you review!) But the gist of this is that two cousins are transported from their twenty-first century home to the shore of Erik's lakeside lair during a thunderstorm. Unable to speak French and being absolutely thrilled to bits with their host, the girls latch on and turn Erik's cozy little world upside down. (Based on Leroux and Kay books).

Brooke was the first to come around. She was snuggled comfortably beneath a mound of down blankets, perfectly warm and soft. Her mind struggled to launch a coherent train of thought, but a strange drowsiness sat on her brain like a school bully demanding lunch money.

_She and Anna had decided to get out of the house and spend the day at Echo Lake with a big bag of books, listening to music on Anna's laptop, daydreaming the afternoon away….They had chosen a remote strip of shoreline, far from the swimmers….Mid-day the storm came….not unusual for Montana in the summer, but this was a monster….Anna freaked cramming the computer into its bag before diving for the books….They fought the rain and wind up the bank….There was a bright, hot flash…lightening….A tree fell and they fell into a shallow, rocky gorge….Then everything became cold…._

What happened after that Brooke couldn't figure out for the life of her. Anna stirred beside her.

"Hey," Brooke said.

"Hey…Are we in your basement?" Anna replied, her voice raspy and slurred.

"No…Becca's Orli posters are no where to be seen."

Anna sat up. She tossed her red head side to side in an effort to shake off the strange stupor. The room was cozy and bathed in the orange glow of the fire in the hearth; the furniture looked like it had been bought from a museum display, gaudy and beautiful all at once.

"We are in someone else's house," Anna said quietly. Uneasiness gnawing at their hearts, the girls climbed off the bed and set about looking for their host. The first door they tried led to a lovely, spacious bathroom. The second led to sitting room.

"I vaguely feel that I've seen this place before, but I can't remember where," said Brooke.

"I feel like I'm in _The Importance of Being Earnest," _said Anna.

"Well, let's try this door, Gwendolyn, dear." Brooke swung open a door in the wall opposite their bedroom. The girls tumbled inside and received the shock of their lives.

At the center of the room an ornate black coffin sat upon a dais. It was shrouded in black curtains and lit by tall, black mourning candles. The inside was lined with red silk. The girls trembled violently as they edged closer.

"Dracula maybe?" Brooke squeaked.

"No."

Brooke followed her cousin's stare to the magnificent organ, which cover the entire wall behind them. Anna rushed forward to peer at the unfinished score lying on the seat.

"My lord! Brooke, look at the title…"

"_Don Juan Triumphant." _The beautiful voice was neither Brooke's nor Anna's. It came from a tall, thin man who had appeared like a ghost. Brooke, who had her back to the stranger, screamed in fright and bolted to her cousin's side. Chills ran down Anna's spine. It was so surreal to see him standing there, mask and all. She was so dumbfounded by the circumstances that she didn't know whether to cower in fear or squeal for joy. She opened her mouth, but it was too dry for words. After a few moments of gasping like a fish out of water, she managed to get out one whispered word:

"_Erik!" _

The eyes in the mask flickered suspiciously.

"How did one such as you come by that privileged information?" he hissed, but even the hiss was beautiful. He approached them slowly. Every step he took made the girls shake with mounting fear. _Keep your hand at the level of your eyes! _Brooke's hand clutched at her throat.

"Please, we're sorry. We didn't mean to intrude!" Anna cried.

"We woke up in the other bedroom."

"We didn't recognize this place at first!"

"We were kind of out of it!"

"But it was an accident really!"

Erik was so close he had only to reach out one elegant hand to choke off the frightened babbling. All at once both girls wailed hysterically:

"_PLEASE DON'T KILL US!"_

Erik snorted in disgust and said, "I don't kill harmless women. I found you lying unconscious on my doorstep. I could have finished you off there, but I'd rather like to know how you managed to reach my door unharmed."


	2. Of Lady's Undergarments

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO characters but Anna and Brooke were fashioned from my brain.

**Softiful: **Thanks for your support wipes away tear of relief since I don't speak French, I've asked Erik to switch to English…he's been kind enough to oblige 

**SCHIZOPHRENIC: **Wow! I'm glad you liked it. I'll have to—or rather Anna and Brooke will have to uncover Erik's sense of humor…I know he has one. But, yes Christine will appear eventually.

P.S. Please forgive me if I get Jules's role mixed up…I think he becomes Erik's errand-runner of sorts…I haven't finished that book completely yet.

OF LADY'S UNDERGARMENTS

"Please, Ayesha, don't look at me like that," Erik addressed the indignant Siamese cat glaring at him from her bed. He bent down to stroked her head, but she only twitched her tail in irritation. "I don't know what possessed me to let them stay either," he confessed.

The story of the girls' mysterious appearance, though bizarre, was fascinating nonetheless, but it was really the way they had begged him to let them remain in the house by the lake that had caught his attention. They said they didn't know French and would certainly succumb to a terrible fate if he threw them out. They actually wanted to stay here…with him! _The Angel of Doom! _A faint hope stirred deep within Erik's closely guarded heart.

"THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!" Anna shrieked. "Can you believe it, Brooke?"

The girls were sitting on the bed in the Louis-Phillipe room digging through their duffle bags, which Erik had returned to them unopened. Whatever fear they had experienced upon first meeting their favorite "ghost" had quickly given way to spectacularly feminine giddiness.

Brooke was wistfully flipping through their copy of Leroux's famous novel, "Do you suppose we've landed here pre or post discovery of Christine?"

Anna frowned, "I don't know. The dates have always been a little muddled. Best not to mention it though. If he has met her then it is a private subject. If he hasn't…well…it's like _Back to the Future, _you know? One should never know too much about one's future."

"Right," Brooke agreed as she buried the book at the bottom of the bag.

The next day Erik sent Jules a message to deliver a bundle of simple lady's garments to the underground lair. When the packages arrived Anna and Brooke went so giggly with delight that the Phantom fled from the room with his hands clasped to his ears. His mind could encompass so many extraordinary expanses but women were still a frightening mystery to him, especially giggly ones.

Brooke was nearly in tears over her blue taffeta day dress. The thin brown stripes running through the fabric matched the color of her hair perfectly. She had a weakness for period costumes and the thought of owning and wearing such a novel outfit made her frantic with excitement.

"It's so pretty!" she sobbed. Anna's emotions weren't far behind her cousin's. She was holding a lovely coral day dress to her body and twirling it around.

"I must say Erik has great taste," she said. They ooed and awed over several other gowns, then they discovered the bustles and corsets.

Brooke cringed, "Oh, my."

Erik jumped away from the organ as he heard the door leading to the Louis-Phillipe room crack open. He stood listening tensely. He was rather unnerved by having strangers in his house.

"Erik?" came a timid whisper.

"What is it?" Anna's wavy red head poked through the opening.

"Um, we need a little help here."

Erik beckoned for her to enter, "Well, come in then." The girls shuffled in…IN THEIR UNDERWEAR! The Phantom averted his eyes and cursed.

"Bloody hell, child! Don't you have any sense of etiquette?" he snarled.

Anna and Brooke stood shivering in the doorway. They had managed the chemise and drawers and the petticoats but the bustles and corsets were impossible to figure out.

"I've never had to wear so much underwear in all my life. This whole bustle-corset thing is beyond my comprehension," Anna said frankly.

"What would _I _know about lady's undergarments?" Erik said spitefully, his back still facing them. He felt his brain burning with irritation.

"Dude, your concept of undergarments is my idea of a Halloween costume," Brooke said.

_Dude? _Erik nearly turned around to regard the peculiar Americans with a quizzical stare, but he checked himself in time. "I advice that you young ladies quickly acquire a small measure of modesty and leave me in peace." A dark, powerful threat underlined the simple statement. The girls didn't move. Anna huffed impatiently. She understood that ideas of modesty and underwear varied but, really, it wasn't as if the garments left anything hanging out.

"Erik, if this were any more modest we'd be nuns!" she said. Erik blinked. They had a point he supposed. He was too tired to argue. Turning about with a heavy sigh of resignation he beckoned them forward.

Erik managed to get the bustles on well enough, then came the corsets. Anna and Brooke blanched.

"Do we have to wear those?" Anna whined.

"Yes, the gowns don't work without them," Erik replied. He really had no idea if this was true.

"All right. You first, Brooke." The redhead shoved her cousin forward. Brooke bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet as Erik laced up the corset.

"Keep still," he snapped. Beneath the mask he was blushing deep red. He had never imagined himself lacing up a woman's corset.

"Hold on to something," Erik warned as he prepared to draw up the strings. Brooked gripped the edge of the coffin bed and squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation. Erik gave a mighty pull. Brooke's waist appeared to have collapsed into her body. Considering Erik's strength it hadn't taken much to achieve a perfect model of the currently popular female figure on the first try. Brooke's knuckles were bone white and her blue eyes had nearly popped out of her skull. Her shoulders quivered as she gasped wordlessly at Anna.

"I don't understand, Brooke."

Brooke gasped again.

"I'm not a lip-reader."

Brooke managed a choking noise.

"Oh. Erik, I think she's having difficulty breathing."

The Phantom's long fingers flickered over the strings and the corset seemed to magically release its death grip. The brunette crumbled on the floor in a trembling heap. Ayesha hissed angrily and darted beneath the pipe organ, evidently outraged at the unseemly behavior.

"I am suddenly very thankful that I am not a woman," Erik muttered as he and Anna regarded the tearful white mass at their feet. Anna peered up at her host, who must have stood nearly two feet taller than her.

"Really, Erik, this isn't the Punjab lasso."

"Once again, mademoiselle, how did you come by the knowledge of such things when you apparently dropped out of the sky?" he demanded, rounding on her unexpectedly.

Brooke whimpered, "I want my jeans and Converses back."

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" asked Anna.

Two hours later, Erik rapped on the Louis-Phillipe door to announce dinner. Despite the undergarment ordeal he was rather excited. He had never had dinner guests before. It was such a fundamental gratification of the unavoidable need for human interaction. Erik tried to remind himself to be rational, distant, and in all ways aloof, but that alien feeling of satisfaction would not disappear.

Anna and Brooke emerged from the room, shuffling and limping stiffly. Besides the looks of utter pain and misery on their woebegone faces they actually looked very pretty. Erik pulled out each girl's chair, and then seated himself across the table from Brooke.

For being extremely hungry the girls ate timidly. Each felt they must make up to Erik for their earlier imprudence with good table manners. Erik did not eat. He felt both uneasy and relieved that they did not ask why. An awkward silence began thicken around them. The girls stared listlessly at the air in front of them. Erik wished he knew more about entertaining when a thought struck his mind.

"What does 'dude' mean?"


	3. Erik Discovers Rock'n'Roll

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO characters but Anna and Brooke did emerge from my brain.

**Argentum Obsrurum: **I love your name! It's very poetic. Christine-bashing…hmmm…let's just say that the girls are going to be very protective of their precious Phantom.

**some random person: **I'll take that as a compliment 

Oh, yes…I'm a little new to all the FanFic lingo (figured out the phanphic stuff all right) but anywho could someone tell me what OOC means?

ERIK DISCOVERS ROCK 'N' ROLL

Erik decided to leave off haunting a little early today. Although he was certain that the ballet girls would be disappointed by the absence of spooky surprises he couldn't ignore that pull of curiosity. For two weeks now it irked him to no end that his house was in one piece, in perfect order each night he returned from his duties as the resident ghost. Those girls were not normal—they HAD to be up to something…he just knew it. Maybe if he slipped in unexpectedly….

He found Ayesha cowering in her bed. A ghastly noise came throbbing through the door to the sitting room. Cautiously, as though he were disarming a bomb, Erik peered into the room.

Anna was going to town on her air guitar, tossing her red hair to the beat of "Bohemian Rhapsody." Brooke banged on an imaginary drum set with a pair of new candles. The music was radiating from the strange white, glowing contraption sitting on the mahogany table. Both girls were singing at the top of their lungs and dancing like drunken gypsies. They had pinned their skirts up around their knees. They ran about barefoot, with their bustles bouncing to the music.

Their voices were truly wretched. Erik could hardly handle bad singing any better than a dog could handle a flute trilling on high C. He stomped out into the open, determined to silence the offenders but Anna held up one little palm to stop him dead in his tracks.

"Don't spoil it," she snapped. She closed her eyes as she and Brooke swayed to the final guitar riff. Erik waited until the strange racket faded away only to hear it replaced by the sound of a thundering organ. Brooke dashed to the laptop, taping the spacebar to stop the music. She discreetly quit the music program so Erik never saw the words "Phantom of the Opera" highlighted in purple.

"Anna! Brooke!" Erik growled.

"Yes?" they replied, gazing up at him with big, doey, innocent eyes.

"What…was that unholy racket?"

"It was music."

Erik's eyes blazed with indignation. "You dare to call that noxious screeching…MUSIC?" He spoke in a horrified whisper as though they had just committed the eighth deadly sin.

"That was Queen, dude!" Anna retorted. Somehow this information did nothing to smooth Erik's ruffled feathers.

"Just what exactly are you doing?" he demanded.

"We are saying farewell to Anna's laptop," Brooke said. She grabbed Erik's thin wrist and pulled him forward. "You see that little symbol?" She indicated the battery life in the top right hand corner.

"Yes."

"Very soon that little symbol will turn red, to signify its final breath, and then it will become totally empty…AND THE COMPUTER WILL DIE!"

There was a wild look of madness in the girls' eyes that worried him. He decided to humor them.

"But is this extravagant display necessary to send the com…computer to its grave? A nice requium instead…maybe?" he suggested tentatively.

"Not when we're gonna have to listen to Piangi and Carlotta squawk till someone drops dead!" Anna cried. She leapt to the table and restarted the program, though this time they were careful to avoid anything by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Erik sought refuge in his room with Ayesha, though he stood near the door, watching and listening like a nosy, disapproving neighbor. During the next hour he was introduced to bizarre variety of sounds: The Beatles, more Queen, an odd assortment of oldies, a few sweeping John Williams scores (Erik rather enjoyed "The Imperial March"), a little Danny Elfman, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," swing and jazz and celtic and on and on.

The girls put on a show that would have rivaled any opera production. They danced to "Piano Man," swayed hypnotically to the score from "Harry Potter," sang with all their hearts to "Summer Nights," did an amazing jig to "Lord of the Dance," whirled each other about to the swing tunes, and went to pieces over Puccini's "Nessun Dorma."

An hour later the final song faded to an end and the monitor blacked out.

"That's it," Anna said mournfully, slumping on to the sofa. Brooke shut the laptop like a captain shutting the eyes of his fallen soldiers, quietly humming taps under her breath. They were exhausted. Erik sauntered into the room.

"I liked that last song. What is it called?"

"'Music of the Night,'" Anna answered absentmindedly.

Brooke gasped, "You heard that?"

"Yes."

"And you liked it?" Anna stammered. She realized the mistake they had made, but as she ran over the song in her mind she remembered the words "Phantom" and "Christine" were never mentioned. They were in the clear.

"Yes, I liked it very much. It was very inspiring," he quipped cheerfully.

"I'll bet," Anna muttered sullenly. Brooke sniffled noisily.

"That's it…no more rock 'n' roll…just that horrid opera junk," she said, bitterly shaking a fist at the ceiling and the performers who stood more than five floors above them.

"I would like to point out that opera has far more musical merit than those heinous noises which you call…rock and roll," Erik said.

"Not when it's sung by a fat cow," Brooke snarled, flinging herself down beside her cousin.

"And a pompous pigeon," Anna added.

"You certainly have a valid point there."

The girls sat pouting for a while. Brooke's face suddenly lit up with a wondrous epiphany. Her green-eyed gaze zeroed in on her tall, black-clad prey.

"Erik," she purred slyly, moving to sidle up to the Phantom. "You could…"

"I will not."

Anna was on her feet and clinging to Erik's arm instantly. He swore they could read each other's minds at times.

"Oh, please, Erik! We know you can sing like an angel!"

"How could you possibly know?" he said. He shoved them away, glaring at their pale, pleading faces. He wouldn't sing for them. Yes, they were likable in a weird, annoying sort of way…and they had treated him with the more human curtesy than he had ever known but he only sang for one person now. For her alone…

He looked down at Anna and Brooke. They stood at an icy distance, not returning his gaze. His heart was besieged by a sudden tide of guilt…no matter he would not sing, but he could at least resurrect their own music. He moved to touch the silent, cool computer.

"What is the source of this machine's power?"

"Electricity." The girls became hopeful again. They remembered the unlimited wealth of Erik's knowledge and capabilities. "Erik, could you wire the computer to an electrical outlet?"

He gave a graceful shrug of his slender shoulders, "I could certainly try. The opera's management has installed some electrical wiring. I suppose that gas lamps will be obsolete someday."

"They will be," Brooke assured him as she handed him the computer's cord.

"Just don't destroy it," Anna warned.

It took all of Erik's self-control to keep himself from dismantling the computer to find out how it worked. The machine was utterly fascinating, even if it did commit the crime of producing awful music. But he mustn't betray Anna's trust. Apart from not wanting to upset her Erik had a sneaking suspicion that the girls would get their revenge in some frightful way that not even he could prevent.

A few nights later Erik asked the girls to his laboratory. He had managed it. There sat the computer glowing happily and fully charged. The cousins squealed with joy. Grabbing the laptop and the Phantom they raced to the sitting room where they spent the entire night teaching Erik to word process and forcing him to appreciate the finer points of rock 'n' roll.


	4. The Barrier is Broken

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO characters but Anna and Brooke did emerge from my brain.

(claps hands) I so appreciate all of the reviews! But I must have a moment of silence for the fall of "Lullabies of Broadway"…possibly the most brilliant fanfic work I've ever read…pure comic genius. (cries)

I dedicate this next chapter to The Phantom and her fabulous cast.

THE BARRIER IS BROKEN

Anna woke with a start. _Was it her imagination or had something just moved across her face? _Her hand groped blindly for the lamp on her nightstand. After a moment's fumbling (she was still getting the hang of this non-electric lighting thing) a soft pink light illuminated the bed in the Louis-Phillipe room. Brooke snarled.

"_Light! You disturb my sleep," _she hissed, curled up under the coverlets like a…

"_SPIDER!" _Anna shrieked, bolting from the bed, clutching the lamp and pointing a shaking finger at a sinister black arachnid squatting near Brooke's face. The brunette screamed, becoming panic-stricken when her sudden movement startled the spider. Anna came to her when a second spider scuttled out from under the bed. The girls forgot all reason and went flying down the hall to Erik's room.

He didn't have any warning. The girls came bursting in, crying for him. Surprised from sleep he sat bolt upright out of his coffin, like a corpse rising from the dead. His mask lay across the room on the organ stool.

Anna and Brooke were taken aback only for a moment when they remembered the spiders and ran to the Phantom.

"Erik, Erik! Please go get the spiders!"

"In our room! On the bed!"

"And under it!"

Seething with anger Erik vaulted out of the coffin and stormed down the hall. He caught the offending creatures easily. Normally he would have let them go by the lake but his rage was so overwhelming that he simply crushed them in his bare hands. How could they have been so inconsiderate? He had sheltered them, fed them, clothed them, had allowed them to take liberties with him that he would have never tolerated from any other. He had given up the freedom from the mask, which his solitude had once afforded him. It was grossly unfair! He didn't know if he was more outraged by their rude entrance or by the inevitable fact that his companions would now prefer braving the streets of Paris. _All for two harmless spiders._

They had discussed it many times. They knew the details of Erik's deformities. They had reasoned about it. Movies had desensitized them and tolerance had strengthened them. Still it was a tremendous shock, but they would never admit that to him. It would take getting used to…that's all.

Erik found Anna and Brooke huddled in the middle of his room. They didn't move or scream.

"Well?" he thundered. "They're dead! Why don't you scream, hmm? I'm more frightening than a spider! Why don't you get out!"

The girls trembled at his rage, fearing the murderous look in his sunken eyes.

"But, Erik, we don't want you to wear the mask," Anna ventured timidly.

"Why not, eh? Do you enjoy the novelty of a living corpse? No…I suppose you think me handsome."

"I like you better without the mask," Brooke said bravely. "The mask is impersonal."

Erik turned away from them and stood near the organ. He had no idea what to think of it. He guarded himself so carefully against hope of acceptance, even after the girls landed on his doorstep. All at once they stood beside him, one on each side looping their arms around his.

"We want to be your friends, Erik," Anna said.

"Your sisters!"

_Here it goes, _Erik thought.

"Kindred spirits!"

"Companions!"

"Comrades!"

"Partners in crime! Well…maybe not literally crime."

"Your entourage!" Anna said, striking a red carpet pose. Erik laughed. It was a lovely sound. The girls were enchanted. In two minutes they had defeated a lifetime of pain and sorrow and Erik was able to enjoy the novelty of being allowed to hug someone.

"Besides…your beautiful blue eyes look prettier without the mask," Anna added. Erik blushed.

He felt in their debt, so he sat down at the organ and sang "Music of Night" with all the soaring beauty of his awesome voice until his sisters cried themselves to sleep.

**Author's note: **Erik's blue eyes are in honor of Gerard Butler (goes dreamy-eyed and faints)


	5. The Poppins Principle

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO characters (wish I did) but Anna and Brooke _ARE MINE! MUAHAHAHAHA! _(sorry…had to get that out)

THE POPPINS PRINCIPLE

"I'm soooo freaking bored!" Brooke whined. She sprawled out on their bed, peering over her cousin's shoulder at the book in her hand.

"How many times can you read _The Horse and His Boy _before you fall out of love with it?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"And?"

"This is round fifty-five and I still love it. Why don't you draw something?"

"I'm sick of drawing….especially when there's no inspiration. Besides…I've run out of paper and pencils."

"Ask Erik for some."

"Do they have pencils in 1870?"

"I don't know. I'd tell you to look up the history of the pencil on the Internet but the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera isn't exactly the best place for reception."

Brooke groaned melodramatically and flailed her limbs in frustration, "I wish we had the _Star Wars _DVD's!"

Anna laid aside her well-worn copy of _The Horse and His Boy _and said, "Yes, I miss those, too!"

Brooke shifted restlessly, amusing herself with messing up the covers when all at once she saw the book-filled duffle bag sitting beside her…even though it had been on the other side of the room only a moment ago.

"What the…"

_Hi there, _said the Bag.

"Oh my…Anna, the bag is talking to me!"

Anna popped up next Brooke and stared at the bag as though she were trying to use X-ray vision on it.

"Go on…say something," she challenged.

_Hey, hey, I don't have to do this. If you don't want those DVD's then keep on talking like that._

"Wait!" Brooke squealed. "DVD's! You can get us DVD's?"

_That's right, babe._

"How?" Anna asked, arching an eyebrow.

_It's a little thing called the Poppins Principle. It means that since you are living in a fictitious world the Author can provide you with anything you may need or want like Mary Poppins pulling room décor from her magic carpet bag, hence the name "Poppins Principle."_

"And hence the talking bag."

_Exactly._

"Oh my gosh! Anna, here are the DVD's!" Brooke cried pulling a four-disc widescreen edition of the _Star Wars Trilogy _out of the bag. Anna leapt onto to bed to kneel before the bag.

"So does that mean we can have a flushing toilet?" she asked.

_No can do. Toilet won't fit in here._

"I thought you said we could have anything!"

_Well…there are limitations. Really it's all left to the Author's discretion._

"Knew there was a catch. So, can we at least have toilet paper and aspirin?"

_Here you go._

"THANK YOU!"

"Anna, come on. I want to watch the movies." Brooke was already moving toward the sitting room, where they kept the computer.

Anna jumped up and grabbed Brooke's arm, "Wait, I have a brilliant, beyond brilliant idea!" She whispered into her cousin's ear and a wicked grin spread across Brooke's face. Nodding her consent, Brooke stole out of the room with Anna, moving down the back hall like ghosts.

They found Erik in his room hunched over a new contraption of wire and glass. Their sudden appearance didn't startle him as it once had. They were admirable students, learning the excellent art of haunting with remarkable speed.

"Erik, dear, do you know how to make popcorn?" Anna asked with deceptive sweetness, resting her chin on his left shoulder. He was suddenly filled with a terrible dread. They had a maniacal gleam in their eyes that made him think he ought to fear for his life.

"Why?" he asked.

Brooke leaned in and said, "Because we're gonna have a slumber party!"

_To be continued…_


	6. The Slumber Party

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO character but Anna and Brooke are mine.

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the reviews! It really brightens one's otherwise boring day to know one has made people smile.

THE SLUMBER PARTY

Erik had no idea what his life was coming to. It was all a little overwhelming. One moment he was an angst-ridden monster, a reject of society, pinning for love and boiling with anger, the next moment he was nearly bound and gagged by a brightly colored wool blanket, held hostage by two young women in flannel pajamas, armed with nail polish and popcorn.

Anna and Brooke had made good use of the Poppins Principle, asking the Bag for their favorite pajamas, blankets, nail polish, and most importantly, their bathrobes. Bathrobes were to Anna and Brooke as black cloaks were to Erik. Anna danced around in a worn, faded, much-loved red robe. Brooke wore a magnificent brown Jedi robe, hood and all, which Anna had made for her birthday some years ago.

"Please explain once more what we are doing?" Erik gasped between bites of popcorn.

"We are having a movie marathon," Brooke said as she pushed the first DVD into the computer.

"What is a movie marathon?"

"Where we sit like vegetables and watch two, or in this case three, movies in a row," Brooke replied.

"And what are movies?"

Anna explained the process of stringing a series of still photographs together and moving them at 24 frames per second so that the human eye perceived them as a recording of fluid motion. As Erik found this fascinating, she explained persistence of vision and the phi phenomenon as well as the workings of a film camera.

"And you say this miracle of science is only a few decades away?" he asked excitedly as Anna arranged blankets around Erik.

"Yes, it's a little difficult to decide who really created the first movies, but in the 1890's the Lumière brothers will host the first commercial viewing of a film here in France."

"Then how do you project them from the computer without a camera or projector?"

"I don't know. I haven't learned about all this digital stuff yet."

Naturally, Erik wanted to know more, but Brooke had started the DVD.

"Now, Erik, try to restrain your questions for the next seven hours and just pay attention to the story. I think you'll like it." The girls nestled on either side of their Phantom and set to work on their nails.

Erik did like it. He wanted to know how one made those glowing swords—"Light sabers," Brooke corrected—and he wanted to know how one managed to film in outer space and where these other planets existed.

"Why is the man in the black mask the villain?"

"Don't worry…he has a happy ending."

"_He's _Luke's father! He has to be lying!" Erik jumped up angrily, bumping Anna.

"Ack! Erik, you messed up my nails! Look!"

Erik sat down to examine the damage he'd done and found nail polish to be an interesting substance. He was leaning over her hands when Anna noticed a few hairs gone astray in his eyebrows. Erik had nice eyebrows; it seemed a pity to let those few rebels mess them up. She reached for her tweezers.

"Hold still, Erik."

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing something."

"Fixing wha…_OUCH!" _Erik shot up off the sofa, as though a snake had bitten him, rubbing frantically at the red skin above his right eyelid. _"What the bloody hell are you doing to me?"_

"Just plucking a few hairs from your eyebrows," Anna said innocently.

"Erik, you messed up my nails, too," Brooke grumbled.

"I don't think I like slumber parties!" Erik mumbled as Anna tugged him back down. He shrank away when she brought the tweezers back out.

"Oh, come on! It doesn't hurt that bad. We do it all the time! You have lovely eyebrows, Erik, they just need to be cleaned up a little."

Erik held still, whimpering quietly like a child trying to brave a tetanus shot. He winced with each hair Anna plucked.

"Men are such wimps," Brooke put in from her place, leaning against Erik's back. He didn't argue.

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when Erik carried the sleeping girls into the Louis-Phillipe room and tucked them into the bed. He could still feel the warm places on his sides where they had fallen asleep. As he turned out the lamp he a few mental notes of some questions about filming in outer space he intended to plague them with when they woke up.


	7. Enter Christine

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the POTO characters but Anna and Brooke are mine.

**SimplyElymas: **(blushes) thanks! (offers Erik plushie)

**Mia26: **I am very glad you like it.

**Narsil: **I'm glad you were so agreeably surprised! I daresay Erik would have appreciated Nessun Dorma but it wasn't written in the 20th century! And WHOO! A fellow Narnian! DECEMBER 9th! LWW is in theatres! Well, well, I keep on discovering your reviews. I adore _Star Wars. _I have to admit that Luke Skywalker is my first love.

ENTER CHRISTINE

Erik was busily arranging some lush pillows and cushions in the once vacant corner of his room. He had hung a ring of deep purple curtains from the ceiling to enclose the area. To the side lay a mound of the personal possessions that Anna and Brooke had acquired or pulled out of the Bag. The redheaded cousin stomped into the room, in her chemise and drawers, in search of her favorite gown. The whole women wandering around in 1870's underwear thing didn't phase the Phantom anymore.

"What are you doing with our stuff?" she demanded, fists akimbo.

Erik turned guiltily. "I'm expecting a guest tonight…I'll need the Louis-Phillipe room."

"I _KNEW _it!" She whirled and stomped back down the hall and Erik heard her shout, "Brooke! He's kidnapping Christine Daaé tonight!" Erik followed her into the Louis-Phillipe room where she and Brooke stood shivering in their undergarments.

"I am _NOT _kidnapping her!" he cried. The girls fixed him with a scathing look.

"I suppose you mailed her an invitation for a nice, quiet celebratory dinner for two in a lovely lakeside cottage," Brooke said.

Erik fingered the hem of his jacket nervously, "Well, not exactly."

"And you're making us sleep all stuffed into a little corner in your room," Anna put in, her eyes indignant and accusing.

Erik put up his hands in a gesture that half-defended, half-appeased, "You'll be comfortable. There are lots of fluffy pillows and the mattresses are new. I had Jules bring them down. And I've put up curtains for privacy."

The girls scowled and pouted. "I guess you'll want us to keep out of the way," Brooke said.

"Well, no…I was hoping you could see to Mademoiselle Daaé's needs…while she's…here." The tall, imposing figure wilted under the burning glares of the two little females. "I'll fetch your favorite gowns," he said, quietly slipping out the door.

-

In the end Erik won out. The girls couldn't ignore the frail gleam of hope in his beautiful blue eyes, even though they knew better. He couldn't get out of taking them to the gala though. From their vantage point in a little room housing the counterweights of the giant chandelier, Anna and Brooke could see everything, while Erik occupied his dark corner of Box Five. The girls wore their jeans and T-shirts under black cloaks for greater mobility should they need to disappear into the shadows as Erik had taught them.

"_THAT'S _Christine Daaé!" Anna hissed. She had never been so severely disappointed. All that agony for a plain, mousy ninny whose eyes were too big for her head and whose chest was flatter than a billboard. She handed the binoculars over to Brooke with a snort of disgust.

"Hey, I thought we were stuck in the book version!" Brooke exclaimed.

"Yeah?"

"Then why does Christine have brown hair?"

All at once a parchment note fluttered down from somewhere above. Anna caught it in her hand.

_Hi there._

"Hey, only the Bag can do that."

_I'm the Author! I can do whatever I want! _A rumble of thunder was added for effect. Apparently Anna and Brooke were the only ones who heard it. They were subdued.

_About this little brunette Christine thing. I happen to be very fond of Leroux's blonde Christine, but since this particular style of PhanPhic seems to call for some Christine-bashing…_

"Oh, goodie!"

_Ahem. Since this piece seems to be calling for some Christine-bashing, I've decided to use the musical/movie version._

"Aha! Very clever."

_By the way that's the Vicomte de Changy down there in Box Three. _

"Where? Ugh, that guy with the big nose?"

_No, to your right._

"Oh. Wow."

_There you go. _With that the note burst into flame. Brooke tugged frantically on her cousin's sleeve. "Anna, look! It's Raoul! He's sooooo _HOT!" _

"Brooke! How can you say that?" Anna gasped. "That's almost blasphemous! We're _Erik's _companions!"

"Just look for yourself." Brooke shoved the binoculars in her cousin's face. Anna peered through them. She spotted the Vicomte easily. He was a rather thin, sickly-looking boy with luxurious brown hair. His skin was pale and his eyes were bright with harassment. He was watching Christine like a mouse entranced by the swaying of a cobra's hood.

"He looks like he's about to drop dead."

"Oh, I think he looks like Romeo…pinning for his Juliet," Brooke said dreamily.

"Yes, positively tragic. Well, there's the finale. We'd better get back to the house. Before Erik and his…_guest _arrive. Come _on_, Brooke!" Anna dragged her cousin into the shadows and through a well-hidden trap door.

-

Brooke was in a terribly foul mood. She punched her pillow viciously and twisted about without ceasing. Anna peered over her shoulder.

"Imagining the pillow is Mademoiselle Daaé?"

"I've decided that she doesn't deserve _either _one of them!" Brooke snarled violently.

"I never thought of it that way," the other mumbled sleepily.

"Well, now you do!"

-

Erik tiptoed into his room at a very late hour. He locked the door and tore off his mask. His face was ashen and his elegant capable hands trembled uncontrollably. Christine's début as Marguerite had been a smashing triumph, but he wasn't so sure about his success in exposing the lie of her precious Angel of Music.

His thoughts were muddled and he could hardly walk straight, but he didn't neglect to look in on his sisters, tucked away behind the thick purple curtains. Brooke was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Anna was wrapped up in most of the blankets and mumbling something about tacos. He smiled. They really were endearing girls. He leaned over them and gave them each a gentle kiss on their cheeks as he had for months now. Then he retired to his coffin, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his troubled heart.


	8. Girl Talk

Disclaimer: I don't own any the POTO characters but Anna and Brooke are mine.

**Sarita: **Yes…I wasn't sure about Christine-bashing but I'm feeling snarky so what the heck. But hey, if you have any suggestions for scenarios you'd like to see please tell me!

**Vlad's Gal: **Tacos was totally random…but I think Erik probably knows about cows.

**Phantress: **WooHoo! Reviewer #30! I'm so glad this Phic makes you so happy.

**A/N: **To all of my reviewers, sorry if I don't thank you personally. Please know that I love making you laugh and I really appreciate your support. Christine is gonna be a little OOC. I have to make her unlikable otherwise I just don't feel justified in letting the girls have at her, but I'm having some trouble with her. I figure she's the whiny, clinging type. All constructive suggestions welcome.

GIRL TALK

_In Which Christine Does Something Very Stupid and the Phantom Discusses Life, the Universe and Everything with the Girls_

Erik shook Brooke and Anna out of their dreams the next morning.

"Brooke, Anna, I've remember some lady's articles that I forgot to have Jules purchase for Mademoiselle Daaé. I'm going up to buy them myself. Please have breakfast ready for her when she wakes," he said. The girls tumbled out of bed, moaning groggily.

"Do you know what she likes to eat?" Anna asked as she pulled on her red robe.

"I believe she likes scrambled eggs, slightly runny and French toast with warm maple syrup and coffee, two lumps of sugar and one spoonful of cream."

"Okay, then," Anna laughed. "Shall we wake her?"

"No, no let her sleep. She's had quiet a bit of excitement," Erik said pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. Anna came over to adjust his collar and tugged the wide brim of his felt hat down lower over the mask. Erik scanned the girls briefly, taking in the frumpy robes, untidy hair, and droopy eyes. He thought they looked cute like that but he was desperate to make a good impression on Christine. "Um, you two had best look presentable when you meet Mademoiselle Daaé." He swept out the back door. Brooke snatched up the Bag.

"May we have some arsenic?"

_Nope._

"Why not?"

_Because if you bump Christine off now the story's gonna get boring._

"Lot of help you are," she snapped, tossing the Bag aside.

Christine didn't emerge from the Louis-Phillipe room until two o'clock. She wore nothing but a skimpy white dressing gown and her eyes were attractively raccoonish. In her hands she clutched a note on which Erik's messy left-handed scrawl was written in red ink. The rustle of taffeta skirts startled her. She whirled around to see two young women walking towards her from what seemed to be a kitchen. _Oh, good, _she thought, _At least Erik has servants. _

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Daaé!" the brunette quipped with horribly false cheerfulness. "Or good afternoon really. How about some breakfast?" She set a silver tray loaded with plates of food down on the table. Christine gasped when the girl shoved her chair back a little too hard.

"These eggs are cold," Christine said, pushing the plate away as she wrinkled her nose.

"Early bird gets a warm breakfast," said the redhead.

As the redhead marched past her Christine caught snippets of a song:

_Angel of Music,_

_You denied him,_

_Turning from true beauty…_

She had no idea what that meant but she made a mental note to speak to Erik about the etiquette of his maids when he came home.

The girls had retreated to their fluffy, purple cave upon Erik's return. They waited tensely for the ax to fall.

Eventually they heard the door from the sitting room creak open. Erik was saying something to Christine about the décor of his unusual bedroom. He showed her _Don Juan Triumphant. _She responded unenthusiastically. He suggested singing a duet from _Otello. _The music started and Anna peered out from behind the curtains. Brooke sat back in the shadows, staring hard at the wall with grim anticipation.

"It's happening isn't it?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Yes…damn it, there she goes." The next moment the air exploded with a spectacular amount of screaming and yelling. Brooke yanked her other half away from the curtains.

"Don't watch, Anna!"

"Oh, I don't know why that was ever my favorite part in the book." The girls buried their heads in the pillows, bustles in the air so that they looked like colorful ostriches. All at once they realized that Erik was calling their names.

Christine Daaé was huddled on the floor near the door, the black mask held fast by a white-knuckled grip. The wretched monster, who had posed as her angel, lay crying by the huge pipe organ.

"Anna! Brooke!" he sobbed. The young women emerged from the ring of purple curtains in the far corner. The redhead ran to Erik, putting her arms around his shaking shoulders, but the brunette was storming straight for Christine herself.

The girl leveled an accusing finger at the singer. "Ayesha, attack!" she cried. Christine saw a cream-colored blur streaking out from behind the organ, speeding towards her. Christine scrambled back out into the sitting room, but not before the cat managed to draw blood from her arm. The brunette slammed the door in her face.

"Why did she do that? Why do women always have to know?" Erik demanded. Anna and Brooke sat on either side of him, patting his arms in an effort to comfort their wounded friend.

"Seriously," he continued, "Why would she do something like that? When you get right down to it, it was extraordinarily rude!"

"Well, you _did _kidnap her," Anna said softly. Erik glared at her.

"She does have major issues, you know," Brooke commented. "The whole clinging-to-dead-father's-memory thing and actually believing that you were the Angel of Music?" The girls arched their eyebrows knowingly.

Erik nodded, "Yes, she is pathetically gullible."

"Her picture's probably next to the word in the dictionary," Anna said.

"Do they even have photography yet?"

"Yes, but I don't know if they've started using film instead of glass plates."

"I feel so horribly depressed," Erik said matter-of-factly. "I am accomplished at every task known to man except handling women."

"No man is accomplished at that task," Brooke crowed triumphantly.

"Besides, you're not accomplished at _everything, _Erik," said the other cousin.

"Oh, really? Name one thing that I can't do."

"Can you hand-fart 'Stars and Stripes Forever'?"

"_What?"_

"Can you burp the ABC's?"

"Well…" Erik blushed and rubbed at his neck self-consciously. "I can do that." If the girls had been dogs their ears would have pricked up. Instead their eyes lit up and they leaned forward eagerly.

"Can you really?"

"Let's hear it."

"No."

"_PLEASE!" _They looked up at him with big, puppy-dog eyes and pouted prettily. Erik flushed redder than a tomato.

"All right." He took a great gulp of air and proceeded to belch out the French alphabet, rather musically. The girls were in hysterics, literally rolling on floor and holding their aching sides. The Phantom himself began to chuckle.

"But truly, girls," he said, sobering. "What would you do if you were in my place?"

"Cut her throat," Brooke mumbled.

"If we were back in 2005," Anna said as she elbowed her cousin, "We'd eat ice cream!"

"And drink tall decaf mochas!"

"And sit in Barnes and Noble, reading random books!"

"That sounds pleasant, even though I have know idea what that all meant," Erik said.

Anna added, "But it would have to be raining outside. It's really annoying when I feel like crap but the rest of the world seems to take no notice."

"I understand _that," _said Erik. The three of them (four if you count the cat) sat pondering their options for a minute or two.

_Ahem. Anything I can do?_

"Anna! The BAG!" Brooke cried. She leapt to her feet and stood over the supposedly inanimate object. "Can you?"

_What's your favorite flavor?_

Two hours had ticked by when Christine cracked open the door. Apparently, no one had heard so she sat peeking in at the strangest of sights. Several empty ice cream cartons lay strewn around the pipe organ. Erik, Anna, and Brooke were all buried in voluminous cushions, slurping up mochas held in one hand with their noses stuck in books held up by the other hand.

Erik turned the last page of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. _"I still don't understand what the sperm whale had do to with anything."

"That's kind of the point, Erik," Brooke said absently from behind _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. _

"Hee, hee. I always loved that part. _'I wonder if it will be friends with me.' _SPLAT!" Anna giggled manically as she set aside _Pride and Prejudice. _

"Only you would appreciate something like that," Erik muttered.

Brooke glanced up at her cousin. "How's Mr. Darcy?"

"Still sexy. And Snuffles?"

"He's _not _dead!" Brooke snarled at no one in particular. Erik didn't pay attention. Following Ayesha's example, Anna stretched her limbs and yawned in lazy contentment.

"Hey, why don't we take some of those online quizzes?" she suggested brightly.

"No Internet," Brooke reminded her.

"Oh. Right…Bag?"

_You can't put an Internet connection in a bag._

"Oh, _come on!" _

_Fine._

They discovered that Erik's celebrity match was Orlando Bloom. Anna and Brooke found it amusing, the Phantom looked like he wanted to kill something.

"We can find out what kind of dogs we'd be," Brooke said. She turned out to be Doberman pincher while Anna was a Rottweiler.

"I wonder what type of dog Christine would be," Brooke mused as Erik took his turn.

"Probably be a Chihuahua. You know, bug-eyed and wimpy…No chest," Anna replied, her tongue stuck out in concentration. She was aiming a rubber band at the prying eyes peering though the crack in the door. _ZING! _Christine gave a little yelp and ran away again. Anna rolled over to stare at the computer screen, her chin digging into Erik's knee.

"So, what'd ya get, Erik?"

"A Bassett hound."

"How the heck does that make sense?"

**A/N: **So, phellow phans, what type of dog do you think our beloved Erik would be? P.S. Updates are gonna be fewer and shorter. Life, you know. Also, my brain is running dry. Any suggestions for new, fun scenarios? P.P.S. Shout out to _Hitchhiker's Guide! _Alan Rickman is gonna be Marvin's voice! YEAH! "Turn to page three hundred and ninety-_four." _Three cheers for Professor Snape. (sorry…please, pay no attention to my random outbursts).


	9. Phantom Phamily

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO yadda yadda…

**A/N: **So. I hope you all saw the Oscars. Not that it was a particularly wonderful year…but ERIK WAS THERE! I went berserk to say the least when the Phantom appeared out of the dark to escort Beyonce down the stairs. (Why did she sing like every song? Don't get me wrong I think she sang "Learn to Be Lonely" beautifully but really people… Josh Groban can hold his own). Anywho.

(hugs to all) (blushes) You guys make me soooo happy! I love all of the ideas and I will probably be using most of them (giving credit where credit is due of course). But yes…on to the phic!

PHANTOM PHAMILY

"Erik, will you ask the Bag for more toilet paper," Anna called out.

Erik didn't look up from _Don Juan Triumphant. _"The Bag doesn't listen to me. I asked it for arsenic once and it said buzz off."

"What was the arsenic for?" Brooke asked as she uncovered a mutilated newspaper photograph of Raoul de Changy.

"Nothing…Just a little…experiment."

"Right."

All at once Erik stood up and came striding into the sitting room where the girls sat scribbling away at some original fiction.

"I feel famished," he stated as though remarking on the weather.

"You haven't eaten for three days."

"Well…this whole business with Christine has me rather upset, you know." The girls saw his eyes dart anxiously toward the door to the Louis-Phillipe room. He had taken to wearing the mask around the house once more. Even then Christine avoided the poor Phantom like the plague. The girls called her nasty names under their breath and wrote random threat notes in their notebooks.

Anna watched Erik like a cat watching a mouse as he began to inch his way to the door. He stood beside it for a moment then cautiously leaned his ear against it. He fought the urge to run in and beg for the singer's forgiveness. The girls had already threatened to strap him down and force him to listen to the best of the Hansen Brothers if he ever did that again. Sighing heavily (he sighed so beautifully) he came to read over Brooke's shoulder.

"Why doesn't she come out? Maybe I should take her some dinner."

"Sure, why not," mumbled the brunette. Erik looked at Anna expectantly.

"I'll ask the Bag for some pizza," Anna grumbled, she stomped into Erik's room and he followed.

"I don't think she'll like pizza," he said softly.

"All righty then…Bag, we'd like to place an order for one large pizza with everything on it and one complete Thanksgiving dinner."

_There you go._

"Thanks."

Anna and Brooke watched in painful silence as Erik tentatively opened the door to Christine's room, while balancing the impressive holiday feast with one hand.

"Some dinner, my dear?" he asked quietly.

"_GO AWAY!" _came the answering shriek. Erik bolted from the room as the bowl of stuffing sailed over his head, hitting the opposite wall.

"That little minx!" Brooke snarled. "That's the best part of the whole dinner!"

Ayesha set to work cleaning it up. Erik's beautiful, haunting blue eyes (authoress faints momentarily) glistened with threatening tears. The girls guided him over to the mahogany table where a hot pizza and ice-cold sodas waited for them. Erik only sat mindlessly picking the mushrooms off his pizza and passing them to the girls.

"Erik, dear, do want our olives?" Anna asked tenderly. He shook his head. That was a bad sign. Erik loved olives. Suddenly Christine threw open her bedroom door. Erik shot out of his chair.

"Is your dinner satisfactory, my dear," he asked, noble head bowed down. The girls hated to see him like that.

"Don't call me 'dear.' And the dinner is fair. The turkey was a bit dry. But, Erik, no one has come in to clean my room for the pass three days. The bathroom needs to be scrubbed down and the furniture needs dusting," she snapped.

"Anna? Brooke? If you would see to Mademoiselle Daaé's rooms, please," he whispered. He'd do anything for Christine and the girls would do anything for him (like any self-respecting PhanGirls). As they flew into the room Christine smirked and said, "Thank you."

Anna was scrubbing the gaudy Turkish bathtub with vicious force when Brooke stomped in, feather duster in one hand, a stack of papers in the other.

"Check this out." She shoved the papers into Anna's soapy hands.

"'I love Raoul. I love Raoul. I love Raoul.' Twenty whole pages. Perfect way to spend three days," Anna said dryly, handing them back to the fuming Brooke.

Anna continued, "Always thought she had bad taste in men."

"No! _They _have bad taste in women!" Brooke snarled and stormed out to resume her dusting.

"Erik," Christine's angelic voice disturbed a tense game of UNO. The Phantom was on his feet instantly, cards flying everywhere.

"Hmm, only one wild card," Brooke commented lazily.

"What is it, my…uh, Mademoiselle Daaé?"

"They forgot to empty the chamber pot."

Erik was completely torn. He would do anything to make Christine happy but if he turned around to look pleadingly at Anna and Brooke now…he simply stood frozen. All the females present knew what battle was being played out. Christine's bug-eyed face contorted with a horribly knowing grin. She timidly approached the trembling Phantom.

"Erik, please," she begged like an adorable child. She almost touched his sleeve. Erik thought he might faint. Breathing raggedly, he turned to the cousins. They stood tall and stiff, their hair and eyes blazed in the lamp light. They looked positively magnificent and terrible all at once. As Erik opened his mouth he knew there was going to be hell to pay for this…but he couldn't help it. If looks could kill, Christine Daaé's body would have combusted on the spot.

Anna and Brooke grasped the chamber pot brim with the very tips of their fingers, moving cautiously to the outer door.

"ERIK! Come open this door!"

The Phantom came at once, fumbling for a moment at the complicated counterweights under their wounded gazes.

"This is so unsanitary, I think I'll puke right here," Brooke said.

"Come now, it isn't that horrid," he said calmly as he trailed them to the edge of the lake.

"_You _don't have a nose!" Anna snapped as she whipped her head to the side and gasped for fresh, untainted air.

"Anna, don't move like that!" But it was too late. Brooke staggered on the slimy rocks and lost her hold on the despised article. The girls sprang back as the pot tumbled to the ground, splattering its revolting contents all over the bank. They came totally unhinged shrieking hysterically and wringing their hands frantically.

"EWW! EWW!"

"Calm down!" Erik thundered. Then the pot slipped and rolled to their feet.

"_IT'S ALIVE!" _Brooke bolted up the bank and even Erik jumped back, catching Anna as she leapt into his arms, clutching the train of her dress. Erik knew it would be cruel to make the poor girls clean it up. To be totally honest he didn't think he'd ever look at Christine again without remembering that spectacular splatter. He took them back to the room they now shared before attending to the gruesome matter himself.

As soon as the door closed on Erik's back, Brooke grabbed the Bag.

"Toilet paper!" she demanded fiercely.

_But I gave you some earlier._

"_NOW DAMN IT!"_

Christine returned to her dressing room two weeks later. What a relief it would be to seem her old things about her. She locked the door against any intruders and turning around received a disturbing shock.

The entire room was curtained with unending reams of thin, cloth-like paper. She fought her way through the jungle of white streamers to the inner room where she found her beautiful opera gowns splashed with bleach, grape juice, black ink, and otherwise destroyed beyond recognition.

Wading back to her dressing table she discovered her personal articles covered in a goopy mass of sticky, sponge-like string. Swearing loudly the little soprano whirled around and that's when she saw it, written in sparkly pink lipstick on the Angel of Music's mirror:

_THIS IS WAR!_

**A/N: **BTW, is it just me or is Gerard Butler's voice incredibly sexy?


	10. Erik and the Internet

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO….

OMGosh! You guys! (blushes) You are spoiling me…but please, don't stop. I just got home from work and found my mailbox stuffed with TEN reviews! You guys are awesome! Thank you sooooo much! BTW, retail sucks and plastic hangers are from hell. (sics Erik on evil managers). But all of your reviews just made my night!

**Songwind: **Will you be my friend? "Wandering Child" is my absolute favorite and I listen to it on repeat _all the time! _Isn't it heart-wrenching? Especially when he sings _Have you forgotten your angel? _(goes all shaky and faints). I've decided to tell you a mini-story in which I realized that I have become an official PhanGirl, it won't make a lot of sense but what does? So my ex-boyfriend calls up to talk to my dad (yes, to my dad) and since we're still friends I tell him about me accidentally bumping into his new girlfriend a few nights ago. I said, "Yeah, I thought it would be really awkward to walk up to her and say 'Hey, I'm Erik's ex-girlfriend!'" I was like…Whoa…considering the guy on the other end of the phone is not named Erik. (Not that I'd want to be Erik's _ex_-girlfriend). Anywho.

**Nixie: **(grins) It's a possibility…let's just say that yeah Anna has a definite crush on Erik.

**Megan H: **(bows respectfully) "Oh, so he's yours. I didn't know you were interested." No, that is not me relinquishing Gerry but anyone who can tell me what fifty-year-old movie that quote is from will get massive kudos.

**Countess Vladislaus Dragu: **(try saying that with a mouth full of saltine crackers) I know the feeling and I am honored to have the privilege of cheering you up.

**Brittany: **I know…how could we resist? (drools) yeah for Scots!

Hugs to **Sarita, Phantress, **and **SimplyElymas**! I love seeing familiar names continue to pop up!

**atheshar: **You know my favorite line is the one describing Ford as looking up at the sky like a "rabbit trying to get run over by a car." And I love it when that stupid ship commits suicide b/c Marvin talks to it. Classic. (wipes tears away)

**An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin: **Dude, I'm so sorry but I have no idea what foamy is. But I love your pen name…it's freaking awesome. Reminds me of Wallace & Gromit.

**Lady Viridis: **Sign me up for the Butler Phan Club.

Woohoo to all Gerry Phans! Sorry…I'm feeling very anti-Crawford and very Gerry-protective right now. It's not that I think Crawford can't sing (he can and very well) but ever since I heard him sing "Baby Mine" from _Dumbo _on this loser Disney collection…(shudders) it was uber-creepy…like pedophile-hiding-outside-the-window creepy…no wonder he played the phantom. But speaking of Phans…here by popular demand is an episode in which Erik discovers his own legendary status…and Gerry.

ERIK AND THE INTERNET

Erik was bored. It was still several hours till lessons with Christine and the girls were off haunting the upper floors. He got to pondering the future of opera. He wondered what lay in store for his favorite music style. Perhaps that Internet thing would know something. Anna and Brooke were constantly plaguing it for information. He strolled into the gaudy purple corner where Anna had left the computer sleeping, plugged into a makeshift outlet.

Erik wished the girls were here to see his mad web-surfing skills. He felt quite proud of himself as he guided the little black arrow around the screen. _Hmm, now to find opera._

He stared blankly at the screen for a moment then decided to click on Anna's favorites list and that's when he discovered the hidden vault of _The Phantom of the Opera._ Erik hissed in disbelief. His mind reeled. He had no idea he was so famous. There was a book…several books…a musical (he liked that idea), and a…movie even? (But no opera) A few clicks and he had accessed the official website for the recently released film version of the musical.

"_That's _the Phantom of the Opera?" he cried incredulously. Half…no three-fourths of the man's face was in plain view and in perfect condition. The imposter even had a nose! Erik was going mad with curiosity. He had to know what this was all about. Bounding across the cushions (which is really hard to do, especially when they're so fluffy), he snatched up the Bag.

"Give me _The Phantom of the Opera! _On DVD! Now!" he roared into its gaping black maw.

_No! I promised them I'd never let you know! You're not supposed to know!_

Erik didn't waste time arguing. He dropped the Bag and dashed into the Louis-Phillipe room. He returned with a magnificent pair of silver scissors, which he brandished and snapped open and shut before the Bag.

_All right! All right! There!_

Anna and Brooke came bouncing in through the front entrance. They were dressed as pirate wenches (don't ask why, just cause pirates are cool) and looking disturbingly pleased with themselves. No doubt Christine Daaé had experienced the consequences of female wrath of unusual magnitude that day.

Anna skipped into the sitting room singing softly to herself:

_Happy haunts materialize_

_And begin to vocalize_

_Grim, grinning ghosts _

_Come out to socialize!_

"Where's Erik?" she said aloud. Brooke shrugged as they made their way into the bedroom. They were just in time to see Gerard Butler smash the last mirror. Their legs were rooted to the spot as the movie faded to black and the credits began to roll. Erik didn't move.

"How did you find that?" Anna whispered in horror.

"I had a little help," he said bitterly, gesturing to the discarded Bag. Brooke grabbed it. If it had been wearing a collared shirt, it would have been choking on it.

"You promised!"

_I couldn't help it! He threatened me with scissors!_

Brooke growled in disgust and drop kicked the Bag across the room. Then she and Anna came to sit behind the real Phantom, watching the graceful sloping of his shoulders in uneasy silence. He sat skipping through the scene selection finally settling on "Music of the Night." Butler's sultry voice permeated the thick silence.

"You like him, don't you," Erik said quietly, his voice ominous and almost deadly. He turned to look at them for the first time and caught both girls hurriedly moping up puddles of drool.

"You're making me sick!" he snarled.

"Please, Erik, don't be angry!" Anna pleaded.

"He doesn't even look like me! What do they mean by all of this?"

"Erik, couldn't you see it as a…uh, progressive sort of thing? You know, the Phantom image changing with the times?" Brooke suggested hopefully.

"I didn't even know I had an image!" His tone was gentler. He couldn't stay angry with them for long especially when they looked him straight in the eyes with seagull feathers sticking out of their strategically messy locks.

"Maybe if you look at it this way," Anna began, "_Your _character, however distant from its origin, is portrayed by a tall, handsome man with a throaty, baritone rasp, piercing blue eyes, scrumdiliumptious lips, broad chest and shoulders, and an ass that looks so good in those _Don Juan _pants that you could just—"

"I get the point!"

"Sorry. And then—"

Brooke finished, "And then your arch nemesis Raoul is played by a pretty-boy fop with the personality of a brown-paper bag. Which just sucks now because the real Raoul is a sexy beast!"

Erik and Anna fixed her with stony glares until she buried her face in a pillow. Erik contemplated this logic for a moment. He shrugged with haughty indifference.

"He's all right then, I suppose." The girls grinned at each other.

Erik continued, "He does move very elegantly. And his voice and face have good expression. I appreciate that."

Anna and Brooke squealed in delight and hugged him. Erik quickly pried them off, trying to disguise his blushing cheeks.

"Let's introduce him to his Phans, Anna," Brooke said, moving to take control of the computer.

"I have fans?"

"It's _Ph_ans."

"Oh."

The girls escorted Erik on a tour of the wonderful world of phanphiction, carefully avoiding anything with slash or R/C in the summary. Erik didn't know whether to be pleased, horrified, or just plain bemused.

"Here read some of the reviews. That's just as good as the stories sometimes," Anna said.

Erik scanned screen after screen of pro-Erik comments. He grinned at the fainting and blushed at the downright wolfishness.

"I like this Phatress girl…and Sarita…and Simply-Elymas…and Songwind…I like them all!" Erik concluded happily. He choked back a ragged sigh, "So I'm truly loved after all."

"Yes," Anna sighed leaning her head on his right shoulder. "With all of this, who needs Christine?" Erik nudged her away. "Just kidding," she said.

Brooke was bouncing merrily on her cushion, arms extended like a conductor tuning up his orchestra.

"All together Phans!"

Deep breathe: _"WE LOVE YOU, ERIK!"_

From a dark, distant corner:

_So does this mean I'm forgiven?_


	11. Prelude to Madness

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO….Anywho.

Yeah! You guys are all soooo awesome!

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **(winks) I love you too.

**x g r e e n e y e s x: **I shall definitely be on the look out for your phic.

**Christy Day: **Um, age levels….A, B & C (cute, huh?) are all twenty I figure. Erik on the other hand…according to Kay he dies at the age of fifty. The movie seems to place him at thirty-five (around Gerry's age), but I see him as ageless, like Santa Claus (snigger…there's a great comparison). I have no idea how long this is gonna continue but I figure Anna and Brooke are stuck with Erik in his time period. I like letting the episodes flow somewhat logically but at the same time I want to preserve some sense of randomness.

**Sarita: **Christine-bashing is part of the coming attractions for sure.

**Aurora: **Welcome to the Phamily. (Brooke offers an official pin shaped like the Poppins Bag) Thank you…I don't think I've ever been so flattered (shuffles feet) Oh, please email me your picture I'd _love _to see it! Thank you!

**Random-Battlecry: **(gasp) It's you! My hero! (falls at feet) Thanks for the info. And _please please please _come back and review.

**Solecito: **(sighs) If only daily updates were possible. But you know life—the greatest of adventures—beckons thus, daily updates are not always possible, but I shall try to keep this up for a while.

**Jillybean: **yeah, Brown-Paper Bag is my assessment of Patrick Wilson as Raoul. No expression until Phantom has him gagged and then he's a pathetic snot mess. Ew. Generally, speaking I actually like the character…poor kid, especially when Erik calls him Christine's "little fellow." I think Erik and Raoul should be drinking buddies and sing _Hey ho to the bottle I go!_

Three cheers for the _Don Juan _pants. It's a credit to Gerard Butler that he can wear those and look not just good but incredibly sexy. Not everyone can do that.

Anywho. This is gonna be a short update, but as it's title states, it is a prelude, to bigger and crazier things. However, there's a catch: I require ten creative answers to the question posed at the end of this chapter before I update again. Oh, yes, and to **Erik for President **here's an X-Men tribute but honestly, all I know about X-Men is that Hugh Jackman is really hot as Wolverine. But on with the show!

PRELUDE TO MADNESS

Anna and Brooke crept about the darkened halls of the empty opera house like hungry wildcats. In fact they were currently dressed in spectacular _Cats _costumes. Erik had long since stopped questioning their fetish for outlandish costumes. They were strange…but 'he was one to talk,' as Brooke put it. That was the end of that.

Anna gave her huge Rum Tum Tugger mane a gleeful thump as she stole across the vacant foyer. Brooke came skipping behind her, dressed as Rumpleteazer. Needless to say if Erik himself didn't scare some courageous opera employee, the girls definitely got the job done.

"Brooke, check this out!" Anna hissed excitedly. The kitty clad cousins peered up at a beautifully painted advertisement for the Opera Populaire's annual masquerade ball. They squealed with excitement. Elsewhere an overly inquisitive ballet rat fainted from sheer terror of rousing the wrath of the Phantomesses.

Back in the foyer, Brooke and Anna spun each other in circles, singing:

_Masquerade!_

_Paper faces on parade…_

"But we don't know how to ballroom dance," Anna cried, suddenly halting, fluffy mane thumping against her skull.

"No problem. We'll ask the Phantom to teach us." They were always careful to say 'the Phantom' when they were "in public", lest anyone should uncover Erik's identity.

"Does he know how to dance?"

"He knows everything. The real question is what shall we wear?" The girls paced the marble floor, brows furrowed, tails swishing.

"Well, it's gotta be better than the black domino Christine will be wearing," Anna mused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"What _is _a black domino?"

"I have no idea."

"Sounds boring. Hey, how about the X-Men?" Brooke said brightly. Anyone could have sworn that her false cat ears pricked up.

Anna glared at her, "You really want to show up in black spandex?"

Brooke shrugged, "It was a thought. When is the ball?"

"Not for another month according to the poster. We have time. Let's go bug the Phantom for those dance lessons." With that the two cats slinked into the shadows.

**A/N: **Well, phans? What shall they wear? (I do have ideas, but let's hear yours)


	12. THE MASQUERADE AND A RAOUL HUNT

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO, blah, blah…

Oh my goodness…the reviews have been pouring in! We're closing in on 100! (muffled voice from underneath the mail) Oh, my, Erik, there you are. Well, like I said I do have ideas for the girls' costumes but some of your suggestions have got me thinking. What do you think, Erik?

Erik scans suggestions, "Who is Britney Spears?"

You don't want to know.

**depploverphan1: **Welcome! Were you disappointed by Johnny's second Oscar loss? I have to admit I wasn't really miffed by this one…if he didn't win for bloody brilliant _Captain _Jack Sparrow then what's the point?

**megan h: **Hello, again! That's kind of funny about that line being from _Mean Girls _b/c my response (as I said) was from a movie too. It's called _We're No Angels _starring the absolutely wonderful Humphrey Bogart. (dons fedora and trench coat)

**Phantress: **(runs up to give a hug) There you are! I've been waiting for you! And your review was so awesome. I actually own Scarlett's drape dress and one of my friends has the BBQ dress. Love GWTW! I felt so bad! I'm not actually gonna be "showing" you the dance lessons. But since you love the idea so much I just have to fit a dance scene in another chapter somewhere (heck maybe I'll find some room for it in here…a little Anna/Erik fluff maybenot much cause I like _very_ subtle romance) Hurrah for Gerry's bootylicious body!

**Allison: **Hmm, let's see Anna and Brooke could go as the chicks from Castle Anthrax and Erik could be that psycho black knight. _Come back here you coward! I'll bite your legs off!_

**Mrs. Tom Riddle: **I totally sympathize on the whole Gerard's dead sexy voice thing. And yes, Snape rocks. I (heart) Alan Rickman.

**THELadyRedDeath: **I always hated playing anything that went above that really high A flat. My poor dog…that little simile/metaphor/whatever was a tribute to Bailey and his poor ears listening to me practice.

**Songwind: **I love you back (warm fuzzies). You know the thing I love about Gerry, especially in "Wandering Child", is that his voice has soul, you know? (faints) But yeah that little idea at the end of your review might be making an appearance sometime in the near future.

**childofthewilderness: **Oh I love Munkustrap! And Mistofflees (how do you spell that? oh well). Rum Tum Tugger is my favorite though. Yeah, I know Erik is a little on the fluffy side but that's with the cousins, he has a soft spot for them. But Christine and Raoul are going to be showing up more and then we'll see some of Erik's darker sides (all in good humor of course)

Oh, yes, Erik?

" I think I've uncovered some exceptional concepts for Anna and Brooke's costumes. They're from **Aurora, Cold Fate **& **enigmatic mystery.**"

Kewl beans. On with the show then. And if I do say so myself, this is gonna be a good one. (WARNING: This story is gonna go from major fluff to major chaos in, like, .5 seconds somewhere in the middle)

XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX

THE MASQUERADE AND A RAOUL HUNT

Brooke emerged from the bathroom in the Louis-Phillipe room. The girls were temporarily allowed to take back their old room in order to spare Erik the horror of sharing his private bathroom with two primping females.

"What do you think, Anna?" she said, turning in a slow, elegant circle. They had to rely on each other's opinions since there were no mirrors in the house by the lake. Anna stood back to admire her cousin.

The fabric of her gown appeared faded and almost decayed in some places. It rustled like paper when she moved. The petticoats all varied in length, each was a slightly different shade from the other, one tinged with smoky grey, another with fainting lavender, another dying yellow. Her hair was swooped back and held in place by tarnished gold combs. The soft slippers on her feet were worn. The neckline scooped low enough for a little cleavage to be seen. Brooke was painfully aware of this fact, but she maintained an air of grace despite her discomfiture.

Limp pink rosettes were spattered carelessly across her bodice. Shimmering on the longest skirt panel, written in delicate gold embroidery thread was Poe's "Annabelle Lee."

"You look fantastic! How about mine?"

Anna stood out in stark contrast with her cousin. She wore a black gown fashioned like something a Greek goddess might have worn, made of flowing and rippling fabric that appeared to have been fashioned from black water. A silver chain studded with smoky quartz girdled her waist. Her sandaled feet peeped out from beneath the skirts. She had dyed her hair black for the occasion but had managed to avoid appearing ridiculous. Indeed, the severe color suited her pale complexion. Silver and quartz sparkled dully on the bands running across the crown of her head. Strapped to her back was a pair of magnificent raven's wings, so well constructed that it seemed she might spread them and take flight at any moment.

Two panels of sheer black fabric extended from her shoulders and connected with cold silver bracelets entwined about her wrists. Upon the inner parts of these, in spidery silver thread, was written "The Raven."

"I love it. There's Erik knocking. Let's go," Brooke breathed. The cousins grasped hands for one last bit of reassurance before stepping out into the sitting room where their escort waited impatiently.

Erik had his back turned to the door when the girls came out. They heard him mumbling something about "bloody women taking forever," but they were too stunned to make their presence known.

There stood the Red Death. The golden warning blazed across the rich red velvet cloak. His head was crowned by a glorious hat, red as wine, plumed with vermillion ostrich feathers. He stood tall. His body thin but so graceful it nearly made them cry.

Anna's heart hammered against her rib cage. She shook uncontrollably. All this time she had seen him as their sweet, indulgent guardian, too tender to ever harm a fly, but now she realized with terror that she had been playing with a lion. He was the Phantom of the Opera! So carelessly had she used that title, only now did she feel the full impact of its deadly power. She was frightened by her revelation yet at the same time she felt an indescribable thrill. An astonished gasp escaped her lips and the Red Death turned to face them.

Erik's heart jumped. He hardly recognized the women standing before him. They were not the adorable, obnoxious children he had seen early that morning at breakfast. Here before his unmasked gaze stood a shadowy angel and an ethereal spirit. Hidden by their silk masks the young women were like creatures of a realm unknown to him. It was profoundly disturbing.

"Well, what do you think?" Anna's familiar voice coming from the Raven startled Erik.

"You are very beautiful, both of you," he replied.

"Let's to the dance then," the Spirit said in Brooke's voice.

Erik offered each girl a red-sleeved arm.

XXXXXXXxxxxxxXXXXXX

The Raven and the Spirit made their entrance alone. Red Death waited in the shadows. He had an urgent mission that he could not forget. Standing back out of sight he watched as the elite men of Paris fell over themselves to win a dance with the mysterious ladies clothed like death.

Whether by accident or on purpose, the Raven eventually came to stand back to back with a little black domino, anxiously scanning the room for her partner. Though they wore the same color, the contrast between them was astonishing. Deep inside, Erik had to admit that the domino looked pathetically childish alongside the striking Raven. What was he thinking? He shook his head. What was here for? Oh, yes…Christine.

The heartless chit had raised herself on her ballerina's toes to gaze above the heads of the crowd. He knew she was not looking for him. Erik was about to step out of the shadows to glide past her when an outburst of familiar giggling caught his ears. Apparently the Raven was enjoying herself enormously. She had moved away from the black domino and stood surrounded by admiring ball guests. She was putting the French he had taught her to good use, giggling and flirting her way into the hearts of those dull, moronic men. Erik was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy.

Forgetting the black domino and her ill intentions, Red Death emerged from his hiding place into the bright light of the ballroom. Gasps and cries arose from the decadent Parisians at his startling appearance. They parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses as he moved across the room with smooth grace. No doubt the black domino was shaking with terror but Red Death paid her no mind.

When he reached the Raven he stopped and held out a gloved hand to her, an invitation to dance.

A plump Viking sputtered indignantly, "I say, sir, the next dance is mine!"

Neither Red Death nor the Raven appeared to have heard him. She accepted the hand and he drew her out to the dance floor. Sweeping his cape aside, Erik took her into his arms as the maestro began the waltz. They whirled about the floor with such fluid motion that the onlookers thought they might be flying. Anna's head reeled. She desperately feared that her miserable dancing skills would mar the moment but Erik seemed to impart some of his elegance to her. His closeness and the pounding in her throat drowned out all sound except for the music. She felt herself giving in to a strange, wonderful trance.

The end of the dance jarred Anna out of her dreamlike state. Suddenly the opulence of the room seemed so ordinary. She was deeply grateful that the mask hid her disappointment.

Erik's thoughts cleared and he released the Raven. With stern indifference he glided away, aware that she still watched him.

XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX

The Spirit had not put so much effort into her flirting as the Raven had done. She stood brooding silently for so long that the other guests began to think she might really be a ghost. Her sulking green eyes stayed on the black domino. She was vaguely aware that Erik and Anna were dancing together. She observed them for a minute then she saw a white domino materialize beside his black counterpart.

All at once her eyes took on a crazed hungry look that Anna recognized from across the room. The Raven forgot her jilted feelings as she stole after the Spirit who quietly followed the two little dominos into the theatre.

Red Death followed as well.

XXXXxxxxXXXX

"What are you doing?" Anna hissed as she caught up with her cousin.

"I am stalking Raoul," Brooke announced. Anna almost felt sorry for the boy. He wouldn't know what hit him if Brooke found them. The Spirit had broken out of her aloof, sad character to march resolutely along the dark corridor, flinging open the doors of the private box seats. The Raven was close on her heels.

Brooke flung open the third door with vicious force. The cousins were greeted by a waft of reeking brandy. A fat sailor and a skinny gypsy sprang apart from what appeared to be a very intimate position.

"Heh, heh, care to join us, angels?" the sailor snorted. His partner let out a shrieking giggle. Anna slammed the door shut.

"Ew."

Brooke didn't wait to think about it. She was already heading for the fourth door.

"Raoul, Raoul, Raoul," she moaned quietly, sounding like the ghost whose dress she wore.

"Stop that or I'll slap you," Anna growled.

"But don't you think he has such a lovely name?" Brooke peered into box four…nothing.

"It has three vowels in it. All in a row."

"So? It's such a beautiful sound. Raoul!"

"It sounds like the noise my dog would make when he dragged his butt across the carpet."

They had reached box five. Brooke went to throw the door open when Anna laid a hand on her bare arm to restrain her.

"Wait. Let's just crack it open a little." The door opened soundlessly, just enough so both girls could peek inside without being seen by the box's occupants. The black domino was clinging to the white domino at the far end of the box.

"Ugh. She looks like a leech putting the moves on a—"

"A glass of milk?"

"Shut up. You'd think she'd be smart enough to choose a box _not _listed as among the Phantom's favorite haunts."

"That would seem to be the obvious logic wouldn't it," agreed a calm, cold voice. The girls were suddenly aware of a very tall, very red presence behind them. They turned slowly to face the Red Death. The faint gaslights threw sinister shadows across his imposing figure, but the Raven and the Spirit did not shrink from him. A distant observer would have thought the three strange apparitions to be equals.

"What is going on in there?" Erik asked desperately.

"Nothing," Anna answered quickly. A burst of shouts penetrated the thick door. Brooke leaned her ear against it.

"Oh, snap!"

"What?"

"He just called her a whore or a slut or something like that. Which is very true."

Erik raged, "That son of a—"

_ZING!_

"Ouch!" He rubbed his ear where the tip of a sleek parchment airplane had crashed. He picked it up to read its message.

_Hullo, Authoress here. Let's watch the language please._

"Is that word PG-13 level?" Anna mused.

"Whatever!" Erik seethed. "May I go now?"

_Yes! Let the chaos begin!_

XXXXXXxxxxxXXXX

Christine screamed loud enough to wake the dead when the terrifying red specter thundered into the box and shattered her comfy R/C moment. Raoul nearly peed his pants.

Red Death lunged at the white domino, but the boy managed to duck out of the way, and went tearing down the corridor. Erik was close behind him.

Meanwhile Christine was unceremoniously freaking out. "He'll kill him! He'll kill him!"

Brooke joined her howling.

"_SHUT UP!" _Anna roared. "I have a plan."

Christine glared at the Raven, her huge eyeballs nearly popping out of her skull. "And what exactly is that?"

Anna hauled back one fist and belted the soprano straight on the nose.

Christine dropped like a rock. Brooke stood gazing admiringly at her cousin.

"You're my hero."

All at once frantic yelling and maniacal laughter issuing from the catwalks above the stage assaulted their ears.

"_Raoul!" _Brooke gasped in horror. She grabbed Anna's wrist and bolted out the door.

XXXXxxxxXXXX

Erik towered over the cowering white lump, basking in the awesome glory of his power.

"Let's finish this right now, fop!" he hissed.

Raoul poked his head out from behind his trembling arms, "What did you call me?"

Anna and Brooke arrived just in time to here the Vicomte shout, _"No one calls me a fop…FREAK!" _

"Uh, oh." They saw Erik reaching for the Punjab Lasso. Once that little cord of cat's gut twisted itself around the boy's skinny neck it was curtains for the Vicomte de Changy. Panic-stricken, Brooke sank her nails into Anna's arms.

"_STOP HIM!" _

"Ouch! How do you stop the Phantom of the Opera?" Anna cried. Her cousin jerked her close, the blue eyes glittering madly. Anna was seriously worried.

"_JUST DO IT!" _

"All right!...Here goes nothing." With a triumphant crow of "NEVER MORE!" the Raven bravely launched herself at Red Death, black wings snapping open so that she soared like a huge bat. She caught him around the middle and took him down.

"Let go! I want to kill him! Miserable little bugger!" Erik shrieked. He twisted and writhed. Anna clung to him for dear life. It was a long drop to the stage below. Anna hooted happily, reveling in the insanity of the moment.

Raoul looked stunned for a moment at the giant black bird that had been his bizarre rescuer; then began to scramble the opposite direction.

A loud whoop sounded from behind the struggling mass of black and red. Raoul glanced up to see a white blur sailing over the Phantom and his captor. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? Did he even know what a plane was? He did know it was heading straight for _him!_

Brooke tackled the Vicomte, flattening him against the catwalk. She giggled gleefully and snuggled against his chest. Behind them Erik stopped fighting against Anna when he saw the Spirit clutching her prey, figuring she would smother him to death in her blind enthusiasm. Quiet descended on the strange foursome.

Raoul stared at his ghostly attacker in shock. _What do you know? It was that mysterious spirit lady he had been checking out in the ballroom just before he'd heard Christine calling for him._

Erik and Anna lay panting side by side.

"I don't believe it!" Erik gasped as Brooke reached up to plant a good kiss on the Vicomte's mouth.

"I do," Anna muttered.

Suddenly from somewhere below a creepy voice hollered, _"Macbeth!"_

All the color drained from Erik's face, "Oh sh—"

_CRACK! _The catwalk gave way, sending its occupants flailing for the surrounding ropes. Brooke and Raoul wailed loudly like kittens caught on a precarious tree limb, clinging to a thin strand of safety.

"_Help meeeee!" _That scream came from the Raven who had lost hold of her rope and was plummeting to the floor below. Erik and Brooke cried out in horror. Raoul joined them simply because it seemed the done thing.

Anna braced herself for impact but the painful smack of body meeting floor never came. Looking up in astonishment she saw her wings fully extended and carefully lowering her to the ground. Erik and Brooke shimmied down their ropes and came rushing to her.

"Are you all right?" they clamored.

"Yes, yes, let's get out of here."

"Wait! Don't leave me up here all by myself!" The trio turned to stare up at the Vicomte still gripping his rope in sheer terror.

"Really, Brooke, I don't know what you see in him," Anna remarked.

Erik sniggered evilly, "Let's leave him up there or better still, let's set the rope on fire."

"No! Erik, please catch him!"

"What!"

"Please!" Brooke pleaded desperately. Anna rolled her brown eyes. Erik rolled his blue eyes.

"Fine." Erik stomped beneath Raoul. "All right, fop! I'll catch you and I promise I won't try to kill you until both of your feet are on the ground."

"I don't trust you!" Raoul hollered back.

"A very wise decision." Erik began to walk away.

"Wait! All right!" Raoul gritted his teeth and counted to three before releasing the rope and dropping into the Phantom's arms. Erik dumped him on the ground as though he were diseased.

Raoul staggered to his feet, edging his way to the orchestra pit, but when he looked up to face those three frightening beings all he saw was a dark, empty stage.

XXXXXxxxxXXXX

_Whew! _(wipes brow) All right everyone take a bow! Red Death, the Raven, the Spirit and the white domino all bow.


	13. ADVENTURES IN PERROS

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO (tear)…

Wow! (dances in happy circles) Reviews make me happy! Sorry it's been longer than usual between my updates but I've been very sick lately.

**Christy Day: **You know, that is an excellent question. I had thought about that when I started that chapter but it completely slipped my mind as I wrote it. Ah, well.

Wait…"Wandering Child" is on…must listen…(dies) I love that song…it breaks my heart every time.

**Star Sheep: **I'm sooo glad that you like the comedy. I was anxious about writing it.

**whatanoddgirl: **Thank you for the explanation. Every time they mentioned domino I'm thinking either pizza or game pieces.

**Solecito: **I love Poe's work. Yeah, I thought it was about time for some major chaos to break out. I hope I continue for a while…who knows really?

**ella: **I actually have no idea what Fingerprints in Time" is. Is it a fanfiction or a published story?

**easternelvenlady: **(shudders at thought of a mary sue) Frankly, I find it a little embarrassing to write in a mary sue style so I'm glad you've found this phic to be otherwise.

**Childofthewilderness: **I'm so glad I got to bless you on a bad day! I know how that feels. (makes face at Elvis) I'll I can say is, "I am so sorry."

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **Sorry I didn't respond earlier but I think the tail end of your address got cut off in the review. I'd love to be your beta, I actually have experience as a copy editor. But just so you know, it'd probably be best for you to have one or two other betas, just in case I'm not always able to respond quickly. I think my email address is in my profile (goes to check profile) Never mind, I lied. Here it is: yellowbrickrd "at" earthlink "dot" net.

**enigmatic mystery: **Hands over fop, hog-tied.

**Aurora: **Yeah, I gave that costume to Anna as a special tribute to one of my own characters from an original fiction. Hey, I gave out my email address two review responses above so if you want to send me those pictures I'd love it!

**Silent Masquerade: **Oh, please let me know when you post your phic!

**phantomsangelofmusic: **Edgar Allen Poe is a genius! GENIUS I TELL YOU! I figured using costumes inspired by his stuff would match Red Death. The Raven was obvious. Annabelle Lee was a little more difficult but I thought it might be along the lines of something you'd find in a haunted mansion. Pretty but spooky.

**Tian Sirki: **(hugs reviewer 103 and 104) You make me happy! I'm so glad you like it. I'm pondering your suggestion about possibly gift-dropping Gerard in Anna and Brooke's laps. It would definitely create conflict, but that's what fiction is all about isn't it?

So, since you are my readership we shall **PUT IT TO A VOTE! **_Shall Gerry Phantom make a guest appearance some time during this phic? And if he should then what should happen?_

**Sarita: **I have no idea what I'm going to do with them. It was inevitable that one of the girls would develop a closer relationship with Erik but I thought it would be unfair to leave the other isolated until I remember Raoul (might as well put him to good use). I don't want to fall into the mary sue trap though, so it'll probably just remain suggestive at this point.

**Mrs. Tom Riddle: **Question, what do you think of Ralph Fiennes being cast as Voldemort?

**Songwind: **Yes, I'm saving the idea inspired by you for a rainy day that will be descending upon my little phic peoples sometime soon.

**Simply Elymas: **So cool! "The Raven" is my favorite!

Okay, so I just finished Kay's book and I have to admit that I didn't like it all that much. I know, I know, how could I say that? The ending just falls so flat. Besides that, I really don't like the whole Erik+ChristineLove Child thing. It's so empty and devoid of any true value. So what she could give him her virginity (while he's _dying? _o.0) when she wouldn't allow him six months of normal living as husband and wife? But anyways.

Okay, I am totally taking artistic license here with the village of Perros. Here we go.

XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX

ADVENTURES IN PERROS

"_I AM BORED!" _Brooke wailed. She threw her sketchpad across the room. "There's nothing to do!"

"I know, I'm going crazy shut up in this batcave," Anna said, throwing her notebook at the wall.

Erik had no idea what that meant but he did know that bad things happened when the girls got bored. And it usually involved Christine.

"How about a game of Chinese checkers?" he suggested.

"No!" Anna said, "You always win, even when you play against the computer." All at once, the girls were on their feet and anxiously pacing the room. Erik's heart sank as he saw a desperate, caged look creeping into their eyes. He offered more suggestions but the girls would have none of it. They suddenly paused in their nervous prowling, their heads tilted to one side listening to the music coming from the computer.

_A long, long time ago,_

_I can still remember _

_How that music used to make me smile…_

"Oh!" they cried, slumping on to the sofa, holding each other's arms. With the song came a rushing tide of memories of their former life. They remembered the rolling greens hills of their home, the lush forests, vivid sunsets, and shy deer peering out from the shade. All at once they were terribly homesick.

"How long do you think it's been since we've seen a tree?" Anna asked her cousin.

"Do you count the ones in the prop department?"

"No."

"I miss home!" Brooke said, her voice broken and shaking. Erik fixed them with a startled look. He suddenly realized how pale they appeared. How could he have not seen it sooner? They were dwindling into the shadows, becoming phantoms themselves. He had buried the dread that they would one day long to see the sun again, but it resurfaced now with shocking clarity. A loud sniffle caught his attention and he saw the tears glittering down their sunken cheeks. Erik was on his feet.

"My dearest sisters! Don't cry like that! I can't bear it," he cried with a beautifully tragic note of angst in his voice. He held out his arms to them and they rushed into his embrace, clinging to him, soaking his best waistcoat with their tears.

"I knew you'd want to leave someday, " he said softly. "This is no life for young ladies like you."

Anna pulled away to look at Erik, "No, we don't want to leave, it's just that we miss the country."

Erik rubbed at his neck self-consciously. "Well, I don't want to see you unhappy…"

The girls regarded him expectantly.

"Well, I shall be stalking Christine to Perros for the summer holidays. It is pleasant country. If you'd like to…"

He never finished giving the invitation. The girls had dashed into the their bedroom to pack.

XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX

They left the house by the lake a week later. The girls lamented the state of their wardrobe until Erik promised to let them shop to their hearts' content once they reached Perros. If only he knew what he'd be getting himself into. He left the house and Ayesha in the capable hands of his friend Nadir, who had conviently popped up out of nowhere.

The train ride from Paris was relatively uneventful. Erik spent the entire trip curled up in a corner, eyes darting hither and thither as though he expected someone to recognize him. The girls bounced excitedly in their seats. Erik could have compared their barely concealed zeal with hyperactive dogs on a car trip, if only he knew what hyperactive dogs on car trips were like. They stuck their heads out the window and toured the entire train with the porter.

At last they reached the depot just an hour's drive outside of Perros. A boy went to put their luggage on an awaiting carriage, but Erik protested.

"I'd much rather wait to drive into Perros under cover of darkness," he explained, keeping his head lowered beside the girls' ears.

"What! Oh, no, we must get to Perros before this evening or else we shall lose our rooms at the Seaside Inn," Anna said as she motioned for the boy to continue his activities.

"What rooms? How on earth did _you _get rooms at an inn you've never heard of before?" Erik said with disbelief.

Brooke pointed to the vague blue yonder above their heads, "The Authoress of course."

Erik cursed and shook an angry fist at the omnipotent being exercising control over this particular version of his life as the girls bundled him into the carriage.

"Now, Erik, we need to talk," Anna said as she settled herself beside him. "We have given this much thought and we believe there is a great chance for you to interact peaceably with society. You've simply been going about it the wrong way."

Erik bristled. "Don't you think I would have thought of everything by now?"

"Ah, but you didn't have _us!" _Brooke declared, her eyes twinkling. Erik only blinked and sat in stumped silence.

"And how do you suggest we go about this?" he ventured at last.

"Well," Brooke began, leaning forward confidentially; "This time out you have money and company on your side."

"Yes, yes?"

"Money fixes just about any problem. Everyone will forget about the mask when they see your fine clothes and…ahem, all the purchases that _we _will make at the shops."

"Rather pathetic isn't," Erik muttered.

"Yes, but whatever," Anna waved materialism aside, "As for company, people will be less suspicious and simply more curious when they see you with two flirtatious and—if I may say so—very good-looking young women holding on to your arms." Erik rolled his eyes.

"But seriously, Erik, you must use your voice to your advantage and I don't mean to spook people out," Anna continued. "Really, please try to speak cordially to the other residents. A little friendliness might go a long way."

"Very well," Erik said with a sigh. "But I hope you do not expect me to be giddy."

"Of course not! Leave that part to us," Brooke chirped as she powdered her nose.

XXXXxxxxxXXXXX

The village of Perros was happily situated along the French coastline. The Seaside Inn, in particular, had a rather spectacular view of the English Channel. The Inn was comprised of a quaint group of buildings, charmingly decorated with pink trim along the eaves and flower boxes at the windows. A jolly, rotund couple ran it: Monsieur and Madame de Pouf. The former relished a good, stiff drink and a hearty song, while the latter was an incorrigible gossip. Therefore, they loved nothing more than to fill their Inn with noisy young Parisians determined to spend the summer in the most reckless and imprudent manner possible. Those who visited Perros because their doctors recommended a change of scenery stayed at the Le Snob Hotel at the other end of town. The visitors and the proprietors of Le Snob considered the hotel to be the pinnacle of good taste; everyone else considered it unspeakably vulgar and horrifyingly dull and ignored its presence.

The entire village thrived on the summer visitors. They took great pride in the fashionable status of their resort, catering to the very rich and the very foolish most shamelessly. But they also loved their wilderness and so they protested any attempts to build a train depot in the village itself. They said it would be too noisy and would taint the sweet sea air. Thus, the wild woods and groves that now greeted the hungry eyes of Anna and Brooke were preserved in all their glory.

The well-worn road wound its way through forests of birch and pine until at last the village came into view.

"Oh, Brooke!" Anna squealed. "It looks just like Disneyland!"

Erik would have asked what she meant by that but he was preoccupied with calming his nerves.

XXXXxxxxXXXX

Madam de Pouf and the other occupants of the Seaside Inn hardly knew what had hit them when the newly arrived carriage deposited a mysterious, masked man and two giggling, smartly dressed girls on her front stoop. Most of the people bustling about the front parlor cowered away from the man's intimidating presence, but Madam de Pouf's shrewd eyes had already taken in his fine dress and stately manner, thus surmising him to be a good deal more wealthy than her normal tenants. Moreover she liked the look of the young ladies who flanked him.

Erik made the landlady an elegant bow.

"Do you have a room here, monsieur?" she asked as she admired the craftsmanship of his watch chain.

"Yes, under the name of…err…" His eyes darted to Anna.

"Leroux. Under the name of Leroux," she answered easily. Madam de Pouf scanned her roster.

"Ah, yes here you are. Well, allow me to show you to your rooms. I daresay you'll want to take your supper upstairs?" she said as she corralled them upstairs.

"Why do you say that?" Erik said sharply. Madam de Pouf blinked confusedly and looked at the girls.

"I only supposed you to be tired from your journey, Monsieur Leroux. Of course if you'd rather dine down here—"

Brooke interrupted her with a charming laugh, "Oh, you mustn't mind our dear brother, Madam. He's always out of spirits after a long journey."

Erik trailed the women up the stairs, rolling his eyes, as the girls worked their magic, giggling and poking fun at their 'brother' with Madam de Pouf The landlady had grown sincerely attached to them all by the time she left them alone in their suite. Anna and Brooke looked supremely smug. It had been an undeniable triumph. Erik ignored them.

Their rooms were sweetly decorated, a little too sweet for the Phantom's taste, who fingered the elaborate doilies with distaste. Two bedrooms, each with its own bath, connected to opposite ends of the spacious sitting room. A large bay window in the northern wall of the main room opened to a balcony over-looking the courtyard and the main road that led down to the seashore.

Anna sighed with contentment, "When shall we go shopping?"

"Not till tomorrow," Erik said testily. "At least _you _two will go. I shall stay here."

Brooke sat beside him, "But, Erik, we need to have a man's opinion. Besides Christine won't arrive for another two days."

"How do you know?"

"Madam de Pouf told us so." Erik rolled his eyes as Anna removed his mask.

So they spent the remainder of the evening sitting about in their bathrobes, talking of many philosophical things, and making plans to have a piano brought up to the sitting room.


	14. Author's Note

Author's Note: OMG! Has anyone seen the alternate poster designs on the official POTO film flash site? They are like ten times better than the one they chose! Especially the one with Gerik all shadowy and surrounded by smoke. (drool) Anywho. I thought it would be fair to let you know that I'll probably be updating only once a week while school is in session. I know you guys understand the demands of life. But hey! I've been pondering the possibilities of romance creeping into this little phic of mine (obviously Brooke is on the hunt for Raoul) but I'm really worried about turning it into a mary sue (ick!) so suggestions and comments would be helpful.

Oh, and to **GoddessoftheDead** with all of the X's in there) I reposted the Perros chapter with my email address securely fastened. (glares at computer).


	15. Adventures in Perros: Shopping Spree

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO, never will…(sob)

**easternelvenlady: **Thank you for your encouragement. It struck me as very thoughtful.

**Phantress: **There you are, my faithful friend. (hugs) I was typing this very update when I spied a development in my email box. Your note was so inspiring I thought I'd mosey the curser back up here to leave you a note of thanks. (hmm, fluffy Erik equals Gerry; Gerry equals many, many things that should not be mentioned in something that is only rated PG; sniggers and wolf-whistles) BTW way the concept posters are under posters on the little parchment scroll beneath Emmy's picture in the official flash site for the movie.

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **FINALLY! Contact can be established because my email address is on my profile.

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **Put that in there just for you, babe.

**A/N: **Thank you to all of my reviewers! Sorry about the shortness of my review replies but my fingers are itching to get to the update! (Which is, of course, beneficial to all of you) I shall be experimenting w/ a romance for Anna and Erik, as well as one between Brooke and Raoul; and Gerry will be making a guest appearance. So keep up the reviews and suggestions!

XXXXXXXXX

SHOPPING SPREE

Erik had had a terrible night of sleep, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. At first he thought it might have been because he had grown so used to sleeping in the coffin, but he scratched that off of his mental list when the bed turned out to be much more comfortable. All at once it had occurred to him that it was the silence that was so unnerving. He missed the sounds of Brooke sawing logs and Anna's incessant mumbling—always about tacos. (He had approached her on this subject once and had only received a confused stare in return, so he'd left it at that).

It was now seven o'clock in the morning and he was still sound asleep, blissfully dreaming of Christine. (The nature of the dreams shall remain undisclosed). Outside his door stood the girls, robed and for once feeling cheerfully awake.

"Should we wake him?" Brooke asked her cousin.

"I've always wanted to wake someone by jumping on their bed," Anna replied, rather evilly.

"Didn't you do that to me once?"

"No, I only kicked you in the back with my knees because in my dream you were a soccer ball."

"Oh, that's right. Well, shall we then? It _is _the riskiest thing to do, is it not?"

"Most certainly."

""But it is also the more fun thing to do."

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Brooke gathered the train of her Jedi robe into her arms like a superhero preparing to soar to the rescue. _"CHARGE!"_

Erik never saw the red and brown blurs flying towards him. One moment he was millimeters away from Christine's lips and the next he was the target of a blitzkrieg. The girls landed heavily on his mattress. The Phantom shot nearly five feet into the air before crashing back onto the bed. He almost—_almost _mind you—screamed like a de Changy with a bad hair day. After recovering from his initial shock, he jerked the covers over his open nightshirt, which had been providing an excellent view of his bare chest.

"What, in-the-name-of-all-that-is-sane-and-rational, are you doing?" he rasped.

"Giving you a wake up call!" Anna said brightly. Erik glanced between her and Brooke, who beamed at him. Something was afoot. They hated early mornings. He'd have better luck waking a grouchy, hibernating bear than disturbing them before eleven.

"Who are you? And what have you down with Anna and Brooke?"

They snickered wickedly.

"Oh, thank heavens. It's still you," Erik said.

"Anyone for breakfast?" Brooke called as she climbed off of the bed to ring for the maid.

"Yeah, I'm famished!" said Anna. The redhead remained sitting on the foot of the bed playing with the comforter. It suddenly dawned on Erik that this was the closet he had ever been to being _in _bed with a woman. He eyed Anna thoughtfully for a moment before coloring and mentally reproaching himself for thinking so wrongfully.

"Um, should we not repair to the sitting room?" he ventured.

"Oh, no! We're gonna have breakfast in bed," she said.

Brooke returned sometime later, wheeling in a cart piled with covered plates. She parceled out the food. For Erik there were crêpes smothered in boysenberry syrup and a thick cream, an omelet, and ham. Brooke and Anna had omelets, nice, crispy bacon, waffles, and strawberries.

"Wait!" Anna cried, leaping from the bed and dashing to the other bedroom where they had stowed the Bag. She returned with a bottle of purple-hued syrup. Brooke squealed in delight.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

"Huckleberry syrup from my home," Brooke said.

"As in Finn?" he said, making the girls laugh. "I've never had anything flavored with huckleberry before."

"We have huckleberry everything back at home, ice cream, chocolate, even shampoo," Brooke explained.

"Here, Erik, taste some." Anna held out a syrup-covered forefinger to him. Without thinking Erik closed his mouth over it and sucked off the gooey mass. Brooke watched her cousin like a hawk, expecting her to faint. However, Anna maintained her composure…barely. Erik smacked his lips.

"That was heavenly!" he said then realized what he had just done. His cheeks flushed bright red as he concentrated on picking the mushrooms out of his omelet, handing one to each girl in turn. (Anna and Brooke were as bad as hobbits when it came to mushrooms).

XXXXXXXX

An hour later the girls stood, fully dressed, begging Erik to come shopping with them.

"Please, Erik! You promised!"

"I did not promise anything of the sort, you little liars!"

"But we need your opinion! Please!" They batted their big eyes and pouted. Erik sighed.

"You win."

They squealed in triumph. Erik joined them downstairs fifteen minutes later, dressed in—what else—formal evening clothes.

"Erik, don't you ever get hot wearing nothing but black?" Anna asked. Brooke shot her a surprised glance and the two burst into giggles at the unintended pun. Luckily, Erik had no idea about the dualistic quality of the word "hot."

The other tenants of the inn waved to them in friendly manners as they walked into town. Erik was befuddled, to say the least, at the warm reception of the strange trio.

"Madam de Pouf does herself credit," he muttered suspecting that the good-natured woman's prattling tongue had paved the path for their welcome. But years of living in shadows, fearing the gaze of men had left Erik nervous and tense. A parchment airplane soared into his hands.

_Authoress here. Erik, would you PLEASE lighten up? Nothing is going to happen._

"How do you know that?" he asked even though it was a rather stupid question.

_Because I have much more exciting things to do than let you get mobbed by angry villagers. _

The note burst into flames with faint maniacal chuckle. Somehow, Erik felt worse.

The girls wanted to look at bonnets first, but Erik protested.

"No, no, you must pick out the fabric and designs of your gowns first and then buy to match that."

He directed them to the millinery shop. A little bell tinkled when he opened the door for them. Despite the early hour the store was bustling with activity. The volume of whispers rose sharply at Erik's appearance. The patrons and seamstresses eyed him cautiously at first until a few of the inn residents greeted him and the girls warmly.

"Good day to you," said a tall, elegant woman, the owner of the shop. "I am Madam Trufette. How may I be of service to you…?"

"Leroux," Erik said, his voice purring and sending wonderful shivers down the woman's spine. "My sisters, Mlle. Anna and Mlle. Brooke, are interested in updating their wardrobes for the season."

Madam Trufette made note of the group's already fine apparel and quietly thanked her stars for wealthy, and obviously doting, brothers.

"Of course! Allow me to show you the latest fabrics and designs. Straight from your native Paris, naturally." She swept them to the back of the store, to a quiet fitting room for a private showing of said fabrics and designs. The milliner showered them with an array of materials—from taffeta to silk—and tossed a few design catalogues on to the empty chair beside Erik. She looked ready to launched into a lengthy lecture on the merits of each material when a young apprentice came seeking her assistance. She excused herself, much to the phamily's relief.

"How do you think this becomes me?" Brooke said, holding a bolt of dandelion yellow to her body.

"It doesn't match your skin tone at all," Erik stated matter-of-factly. Brooke looked hurt.

"Here. Powder blues and lavenders and dark greens complement your complexion much better," he said holding the colors to her face. "See they match your eyes and hair as well." He was right (as always). The colors made Brooke's skin glow, although he noted with some guilt that both girls' skin tones had taken on a slight yellow tinge, a natural consequence of living indoors for so long. The girls, of course, had noticed this long ago and were already making plans to sun bathe.

"Me next!" Anna jumped up. Erik chose rose pink, sea green, and royal blue for her. The girls giggled as they unraveled the bolts of materials and wrapped them about their figures. Madam Trufette returned to find them lost amid piles of fabric.

"I take it you have made your selections," she said rather sourly.

"Yes," said Erik. He placed a large order for several day dresses, tea gowns, riding habits, undergarments, formal wear and two ball gowns. Anna and Brooke listened in amazement as he gave excruciatingly detailed descriptions for the ball gowns. He even supplied the girls' measurements. Madam Trufette looked positively scandalized at the thought of a brother knowing such intimate information. She found it suspicious that the gentleman did all the talking, while the young women remained silent. She began to think they were not siblings after all. (What shocking tales would she have to tell.)?

"We will inform you when your purchases arrive, Monsieur Leroux," she said. Erik gave her their room number at the inn and bought some blouses and ready-made skirts. When he paid for the articles with ready money Madam Trufette decided to overlook their previous behavior.

"Oh my goodness! Shawls!" Anna cried. Brooke gave a delighted gasp and they dragged Erik into the next shop. The girls were in love the moment they burst through the door. Finally they would have perfect reason to indulge in their weakness for shawls. They went to town, admiring nearly everything in sight. There were simple shawls trimmed with silk ribbons, elegant ones made of sheer, richly colored materials and elaborately embroidered, others dripped with fringe. (A/N: Why don't we have such good tastes anymore?)

When the girls had made their final selections, Erik moved forward to pay for them, shifting the packages in his arms to reach into his breast pocket. The little, thin-lipped lady making her own purchase gasped in shock at Erik, staring with vulgar disbelief at his mask.

She leaned across the counter to 'whisper' to the clerk, "Best keep an eye on that one. Looks criminal. I've a mind to send for a constable."

Erik stiffened. Anna and Brooke shifted closer to him.

"My word, you are very rude!" came a loud, indignant voice from behind them. The whole group turned to see a pretty blonde young woman standing beside a handsome young man. She glared at the old lady. "Well, what are you staring at? You should be old enough to know that that's rude too!"

The old woman sputtered for moment, then collected her things and hurried out the door.

"Thank you," Anna said quietly to the woman.

"No need to thank me. Those bats from the Le Snob think they're the Beginning and the End of society. Without them none of us would have a clue as to how to live." She snorted derisively.

Erik shuffled uneasily, "But what if she makes good on her threat to call a constable?"

The second parchment note of day made its presence known from Erik's trouser pocket. Anna fished it out and held it open for her phamily to see.

_No need to worry about that. She's just been abducted by Martians._

This time the note simply disintegrated quietly. The phamily began to suspect that they weren't dealing with an average human being.

The young man stepped forward, "We're staying at the inn, too. Madam de Pouf said you were a very pleasant party and everybody's been anxious to meet you."

The girls looked up at Erik and squeezed his arms for reassurance. He relaxed and moved to pay for the shawls. The clerk carefully placed the packages atop the bundles that already filled Erik's arms. The Phantom silently thanked God for giving him a good sense of balance.

They left the store accompanied by their new friends whose names were Annette and Max. The young women hurried into the bonnet shop chattering nonstop and cooing over everything in sight. Max tugged on Erik's sleeve, making the packages teetered dangerously.

"May I buy you a drink, Monsieur Leroux?"

"What for?"

Max indicated the happy females with a jerk of his head, "Because it will be at least another hour before they come out of there."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Erik didn't even bother to let go of umpteen hundred packages he held as he collapsed onto his bed several hours later. He had never been so tired in all his life. Anna and Brooke ran into his room and began toting the packages to their own bedchamber.

"I can't wait to go again tomorrow," Brooke said cheerfully as she detached a hatbox from Erik's elbow. He sat bolt upright, sending brown bundles flying everywhere. He took off his mask to reveal a look of utter horror.

"Again! Why do we need to go again?"

"Because I think we missed some of the other accessory stores. And we need to get _you _some season appropriate clothing as well. No matter how se—(she caught herself before 'sexy' slipped out) _well _you look in black evening clothes, Erik, I think you need expand your tastes a little," Brooke explained. Erik blinked at her.

Anna stood with an armful of parcels looking philosophical, "Do you know what I've never understood? Why women would buy dresses that looked like they had been made out of my grandmother's hallway wallpaper."

"What brought that up?" Brooke asked.

"Oh, I was just thinking about the stuff we sold in the store I worked in back at home."

"Did they know they were buying dresses that looked like they had been made out of your grandmother's hallway wallpaper?"

"No, poor souls. They didn't have a clue." She sighed with great pity and left the room. Brooke followed with the last of the packages. Erik fell back onto his pillows with a loud, wretched groan.

XXXXXXXXXX

**IMPORTANT A/N: **Okay, everybody. Two chapters from now our phamily will find themselves trapped indoors by a terrible thunderstorm (courtesy of yours truly) and I shall be putting Songwind's idea about Erik participating in a Phantom-themed chat room to use. I'll try to get as many cameos in there as possible but I'll need your help.

1) Please specify on your POTO lust object.

2) Make suggestions for **specific** topics of conversation and add any funny lines that you'd like to see pop up (keeping it PG of course—which I know is hard to do when one is talking about Erik)

3) Let me know what type of personality to give your 'character.'

Thanks everybody!


	16. Adventures in Perros: Something Wicked T

Disclaimer: I don't POTO, etc, etc, etc… (a la _The King and I_!)

**A/N: OMG! **I am having a phantom-licious week! Last night my friend and I purchased tickets for the POTO show in Arizona this June. (Yeah!) Today we visited the Fashion Institute in L.A. where they have their annual display of movie costumes. _SQUEEEEE! _They had RED DEATH! I was standing there just soaking in its wonderful red presence with only one thing on my mind: _IT MADE CONTACT WITH HIS SKIN! _With his arms and his chest and much, much more (assuming that the manikin was wearing Gerry's undergarments too). It was tall, it was thick, it was broad chested. If it's possible to be jealous of clothes then I was green with envy. If those security folks hadn't been strolling thru every five seconds I think I might have glomped the statue and they would have been minus one costume. (melts into a little phantom-happy puddle). BTW Emmy's 'aria' costume is gorgeous!

Anywho. Well, I am very pleased to see all of the sign ups for the chat room. I'll try to fit you all in there, shouldn't be a problem. Most likely I'll be giving some you of singular traits (i.g. hyper, lewd, random, etc…) just so that each person stands out from the others. It'll take a while to get that chapter up simply because I want it to be as phantastic as possible.

**Maska: **Oh you are sooooo getting a cameo. I was hoping a Raoul fan would show up. But no need to worry for your safety or dignity because Brooke's on your side…she needed a teammate.

But on to the phic! Oh, wait: To any of you who happen to be fans of Lindsey Lohan and/or Hilary Duff I apologize ahead of time. (Christine needed some worthy cronies).

**Phantress: **This opening scene is for you!

XXXXXXXXXXX

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

If a Christine falls out of a carriage and face plants in horse dung but nobody sees it did it happen?

Yes, it did because you all just witnessed it in your mind's-eye, so now you may all laugh and point at Christine.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The girls made for Erik's bed like lightning, hoping to repeat yesterday morning's successful surprise attack. But it is very hard to surprise the Phantom once, much less a second time. Thus, they were in mid-leap when two well-aimed pillows shot them down; they hit the wood floor with loud CLUNKS! A dark shadow passed over the whimpering brown and red heap.

"I win," purred the shadow's voice as it swished out of the room to order breakfast.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Why don't we take a carriage into town today?" Erik suggested as they stepped out into the courtyard of the Seaside Inn.

"It isn't that far of a walk," Brooke replied.

"It is when you are toting several million boxes of lady's articles. We're going by carriage." Erik stomped back into the front parlor to have a word with Madam de Pouf about procuring said transportation. The girls shrugged and went back to admiring their new skirts. Annette, who was waiting for her beau to appear, soon joined them.

"Some new visitors arrived late last evening," Annette said.

"Oh? Have you seen them?" The Mlles. Leroux exchanged knowing glances.

"No. Madam de Pouf said the lady came in simply caked in mud and manure. Nobody's had a good look at her."

The girls hid their indelicate sniggers.

"But the gentleman who arrived shortly after was said to been in a _dreadful _state. Very pale and his eyes looked very…oh, what was the word that Madam used?"

"Harassed?" Anna offered.

Annette brightened and snapped her gloved fingers, "That was it! The exact word: 'harassed.' I wonder if they're connected. I say, what is the matter with Mlle. Brooke?"

Anna gasped for her cousin was looking very pale herself, though her eyes were more dreamy than harassed.

She opened her mouth, "Oh, Rao—MMMF!"

'No time for dramatics!" Anna hissed in her ear, a hand clamped tight over her cousin's mouth. She glanced over her shoulder and called, "Hello, dear brother. Have you ordered the carriage?"

"Yes. Good-day Mlle. Annette." He bowed elegantly. "Hasn't the carriage come yet?"

"No."

"Hmm, best see what's keeping them." Erik excused himself and sauntered off to have a chat with the stable master. He rounded a corner just in time to see the very man towering over a pair of cowering grooms.

"What is in those dim brains of yours?" the red-faced stable master bellowed. "Do you think the patrons have all day to wait while you take naps?" He raised a riding crop over the shaking heads, but a thin, elegant hand restrained him from using it. The huffing, puffing man whirled around then started back when he saw the faceless mask.

"No need to beat these young rascals for holding us up, Monsieur," Erik said gently, his lovely voice dispensing the man's initial fear. The stable master back away and smoothed his rumpled clothes.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but they must be taught to work properly. Else no one will have carriages!"

"Quite right, but I have a more suitable punishment in mind."

"Eh? What's that?"

Erik leaned in close to whisper it into the man's ear. The two little grooms strained to hear. After a moment, their master reeled back with a boisterous laugh.

"Oh, that'll do nicely! Oh, ho! That's a good one! Well, get along with you. You're working for Monsieur Leroux today," He shoved the boys forward and went on to his business, still laughing and shaking his head. The boys were, to say the least, petrified.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke finished waving good-bye to Annette and Max as Erik approached them from behind.

"Shall we be on our way?" he said, making them give little screams of surprise.

"But what about the carriage?"

"No need. I've found someone else to do the dirty work." He reached behind him and pulled out—like a magician pulling a rabbit from his hat—the two stable hands, both looking like the aforementioned rabbit staring down a pair of headlights. The girls blinked at them. The boys stood at their height, both clothed in patchy, Oliver Twist-ish garments with jaunty newsy caps perched on their heads. They could have been twins but one had brown hair and a sort of perpetual sleepy look on his face, and the other was blond with alert eyes and an impish mouth.

"I thought you might like them," Erik said as though he had just given his sisters some new pets. "I fancied they looked rather like those hobbits that you are so fond of."

'_HOBBITSES!" _the girls squealed as they practically glomped the poor boys, whose eyes bulged and lips turned purple until Erik came to their rescue. Once he had Anna and Brooke settled about his arms and they were walking on their way, Erik made to get the hobbits to talk.

"What are your names, young monsieurs?"

"Me name's Fortesque and this here is Pip," said the brown-haired boy, in a slow Scottish drawl. The girls went mad with giggles as Erik held them under control. Fortesque and his friend darted to the side before they became the victims of a second glomping.

"Might we just call you Que?" Anna asked.

"If it suits ye, Miss," he said warily. (A/N: Please excuse my deplorable interpretation of Scottish accents…I love them—coughGerrycough—but can't write them to save my life). Anna and Brooke were so thrilled with their new friends that they nearly made the mistake of revealing that they themselves were of Scottish descent, not French.

Erik intervened, "Where shall we begin spending my money?" He immediately sorry he asked.

"At the gentlemen's store!" came the enthusiastic reply.

Once upon a time, long before the Opera House, Erik had worn a great variety of clothes: wild gypsy garb, ornate Persian robes, even simple European suits of colors other than black. Anna and Brooke were secretly sorry to have to force their friend out of his appealing black attire, but there was nothing else to be done. If Erik were to enjoy, much less survive, their time in Perros he would have to expand a little. Besides, it never hurt to be well rounded.

A portly gentleman with a thick grey moustache greeted the Leroux party as they came through the door, "Good day to you! How may I help you?" He came forward eagerly, having heard about many favorable rumors about the wealthy masked gentleman who seemed to have an unlimited supply of money about his mysterious person.

Erik bowed gracefully as he introduced himself then his sisters, each of whom made the shop keeper dainty curtsies. Que and Pip bowed sloppily when their turns came, but no one had expected much better (the girls found it charming).

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, M. Leroux and Mlles. I am Monsieur Valjean. What may I interest you in today?"

To M. Valjean's surprise Anna and Brooke did the talking.

"Our brother is looking to update _his _wardrobe today, monsieur. We are here to see that he adds a little color to his clothes," Brooke explained.

"I see," said M. Valjean. He adopted a scrutinizing look and studied Erik's person with a professional manner. "Too much black I assume…and monsieur is wearing evening clothes on a fine morning such as this!"

"Precisely! You see our predicament, M. Valjean?" Anna said as though they were refugees on the Underground Railroad.

"Yes, and I have just the thing to fix it. If you will follow me, M. Leroux. The Mlles. and your valets may wait here." He motioned to some chairs, which faced a fitting room at the back of the store. Anna and Brooke sat with prim, satisfied airs that Erik tried to ignore as he begrudgingly followed the tailor into the fitting room.

Erik was grateful that the mask hid whatever embarrassment he felt as he tried on an endless line of morning coats, frock coats, dress coats, waistcoats, and trousers. The girls demanded to see every outfit. Anna and Brooke felt all the weight of this enormous task: they were divesting the Phantom of the Opera of his signature apparel. This was not something to be taken lightly. They thought of all their phan phriends who had joined them in swooning over Erik's cloaks and dress shirts. At all costs they must keep Erik sexy. They knew they would be committing a hideous crime in the eyes of all phangirls if they allowed Erik to leave that store looking like…well…a fop.

Que and Pip had warmed up to the curious Mlles. Leroux and stood behind them making occasional comments that had girls in stitches and Erik glaring daggers. In the end Anna and Brooke decided that grey, deeper blues and greens and chocolate browns suited Erik very well. They made an enormous purchase, much to the delight of M. Valjean, the interest of the other patrons who had wandered in, and the horror of Que and Pip.

"No one can carry this!" Pip squealed angrily, wishing he hadn't let Que talk him into napping their chores away.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's all a matter of balance," said Erik, now dressed in a navy blue morning coat and trousers with a smoke blue waistcoat. "Put out your arms." He proceeded to pile the parcels into the grooms' skinny grasps with great precision, ignoring the gleams of mounting desperation in their eyes. The girls and the other patrons laughed quietly.

"This is why men never go shopping," Que said to Pip in a nearly confidential snarl. Everyone laughed harder. The Leroux phamily left the tailor's in a much more cheerful mood than when they had entered it, with their grumbling servants staggering along behind.

Glancing at his pocket watch Erik noted that it was nearing lunchtime, but as the group made their way to a pleasant outdoor café Anna became distracted by a cart full of flowers for sale. Her face lit up with wonder and excitement as she bent to bury her nose into a bunch of white and pink peonies. Erik paused letting Brooke lead the boys on to the café.

"I take it that you like flowers," he murmured softly as her gazed down at her. Anna nodded, not taking her eyes from the beautiful bouquets.

"I love them. Every time I went out with my friends back home, they would be scanning the crowds for a cute boy or two…but I always looked for flowers. In pots, in hedges…anywhere. Used to make them all laugh at how many types I knew. They'd gasp in disappointment if I _didn't_ know. I didn't realize how much I've missed until now," she replied absentmindedly. Blushing, she reprimanded herself for rambling on about something so distant from where she now stood. She wasn't a person who opened up easily to people; only Brooke had her full confidence.

Anna's sudden revelation stirred something in Erik's heart. He frowned at the strange urge he now felt to know more about Anna. She and her cousin had been his constant companions for…how many months was it?...and yet he didn't really know much about them personally (they seemed to know a good deal about him). Erik shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts as Anna began to wander away from the cart, reluctantly leaving the peonies behind.

"A moment, Anna!" Erik cried. In one fluid motion he swooped up the cart's entire stock of peonies and piled them into Anna's arms (a la Bert in _Mary Poppins)_. He grinned happily as he paid the shocked florist then turned to enjoy the effects of his generosity. The smile on Anna's face would stay with him forever, locked away in that vault where he kept the secret glances he had stolen at his beautiful mother, where he cherished those moments of camaraderie shared with Nadir, where he worshipped Christine as she gazed with bliss at her Angel's mirror.

What a wonderful thing it was to please a woman, he thought to himself as he and Anna walked toward the café…_especially one who TRULY deserves to be pleased, _added a tiny voice in the back of his mind.

Anna wasn't one to be demure about things like this. She blushed and giggled and wriggled with pleasure as her heart skipped beats. Glancing up she saw Brooke smiling rakishly, but the happy moment was suddenly murdered by an unexpected appearance.

"It's Christine!" Erik hissed.

"Where?" Anna and Brooke yelped, eyes darting here and there.

"Oy! Where did M. Leroux get to?" Pip asked.

"Back here," came a ghostly whisper. The little group turned to see Erik scuttling between the café and another building like a spider hiding from the sun.

"_Don't look at me!" _the whisper hissed in the girls' bonnets. They whirled around and this time they had no trouble spotting Christine because she was standing directly in front of them, arms crossed over her invisible chest and flanked by two simpering, insipid girls.

"Well, well, what are _you _two doing here?" she snapped glaring at Anna and Brooke as though she intended to vaporize them.

"Having lunch," Brooke quipped waving a sandwich in the singer's face. A little blob of tomato pulp leapt from its mother ship and found a new home on Christine's pretty lace bodice. Que and Pip sniggered in the background. Christine flushed for a moment but let it slide.

Leaning forward she whispered, "Don't be stupid. Is…_He _with you?"

"Um…the cheeky stable hands?" Anna offered as she and Brooke leaned back. Christine seemed to have forgotten to brush her teeth that morning. The singer stomped her feet in impatience.

"_Erik! _Is Erik with you?"

"What? Erik? Erik who?" Brooke stammered with false confusion. She turned to her cousin. "Do you know an Erik?"

"No, I don't know an Erik? Not even sure what an Erik is," Anna replied. Suddenly she fixed a glare on the boys from behind her mound of peonies. "Do _you _know an Erik?"

The boys babbled incoherently for a moment before answering in the negative. They, in turn, glared at Christine and her companions, whom they had decided not to like. The singer stared at the girls in disbelief. Her eyes darted past them as she tried to spy the Phantom's terrifying figure in the throngs of tourists, yet she couldn't quite believe that he'd be in public, particularly in broad daylight.

During the brief lull in conversation (in you call that a conversation) Anna and Brooke really noticed Christine's 'wingmen' so to speak. They did a very surprised double take. Both young women were eerily familiar to the girls. The one on Christine's left was a blonde with an obnoxious bubbly smile on her face, while the one on the right—into whose red hair Pip was calmly flicking slimy boogers—appeared as though she were perpetually attempting to seduce every man in sight. Her mouth hung open and her ridiculous cleavage heaved up and down like ocean waves.

"Who are you?" Brooke asked after a moment of stunned surveillance. The blonde smiled cheerfully as she titled her head to one side to regard the Mlles. Leroux.

"I am Mademoiselle Hilaire Duff. My papa is a count. What is your papa?" she said in a fast, prattling voice, her bright eyes eager for gossip fuel.

"An engineer," Brooke answered sharply before turning to the redhead, who stared back with cat-like eyes. "And you?"

"I am Mademoiselle Lizette Lohan, daughter of a count as well," she replied breathily, her bountiful chest rising and falling dramatically. Que found this intriguing but Pip continued with his booger flicking.

Anna and Brooke blinked. This was, like, way weird in their opinions.

Christine huffed angrily, "What has this to do with anything? If _he _is not with you then who is paying your bills?"

"Who is paying _yours?_" Anna challenged. Christine flushed as her friends began to giggle uncontrollably. It was a very unpleasant noise.

"Her beau, the Vicomte de Changy," Mlle. Duff managed to communicate in between giggle fits. A vicious hiss buzzed in the bonnets of Anna and Brooke.

"Oh really? Couldn't have guessed that," Brooke muttered.

"Yes, we are meeting Raoul and his friends for a stroll along the beach this afternoon," Christine said importantly, taking in Brooke's jealous glare. Her companions tittered with eager anticipation.

"I thought you were here to mourn over your father's grave," Anna put in. The giggling trio became somber and Christine—being the actress that she was—managed to pull off a suitably serious expression.

"Naturally that is what I am here for. Raoul has been most kind in funding this sojourn of mine," she paused to sniffle for effect, "And I don't appreciate your forwardness on such a delicate subject." Her enormous eyes welled with tears. No doubt Erik was fighting the urge to kiss them away.

Anna regarded Christine with disgust then said dryly, "You, my bug-eyed friend, are a moron."

Christine gaped and blubbered and smoldered for a moment before storming on her way—in a very moronic fashion, followed by her very moronic company.

You see, my dear readers, Christine was indeed a moron, for not only did she reject the love of the sexiest man known to fiction, but she also had a very dangerous habit of provoking people who held low opinions of her into acts of violent, chaotic revenge. She was about to discover that toilet paper and sparkly pink lip stick were by no means the only weapons in the cousins' arsenal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke listened to Erik tuning up his violin, playing a few melancholy chords. Anna sighed heavily as she cradled her peonies, her heart aching terribly.

"Well, shall I trouble the Bag for toilet paper?" Brooke asked lazily. Anna sat in thoughtful contemplation for a moment. Her brown eyes narrowed into angry slits. Toilet paper was too good for Christine Daaé.

"No…it's gotta be better than that," she said as she rose to put the wilting flowers in a tall, curvy vase.

"What do you suggest?"

"Tarantulas."

"WHAT? Are you insane?...Never mind…I already know the answer to that. Alright, just be sure that they're properly caged."

Anna let out a sinister chuckle that would have made the Opera Ghost proud had he been listening.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The moon shone like a brand new pearl against the black velvet of the night sky. She must have just come from bathing in the rivers of the Milky Way, her glittering attendants twinkling about her like a queen's gossiping court. She was more ethereal and regal than any man or woman had ever seen her as she cast her cold, pearly glow down upon the graveyard at the edge of Perros.

It looked the way all Gothic graveyards ought to look. Crooked, crumbling headstones jutting sinisterly from their beds of thick, sweet sea grass, a small stone church gazing mournfully out over the eerie yard to the sea that wailed in the distance. A faint mist crawled over the earth, raising goose bumps from her moist flesh. It was the sort of warm summer night where happier, wiser mortals danced with the wood sprites and drank the richest of wines, but those whose souls held a wintry chill stood peering out into the darkness of the sea, where ghost ships rose from the frigid, black depths to sail once again.

The little scene unfolding in the darkest corner of the Perros graveyard was not really surprising considering the setting, yet it would have broken many a heart.

Raoul de Chagny crouched behind one of the larger granite tombstones watching his beloved Christine as she lay trembling on her father's grave, the huge pillar of stone looming over her, casting its shadow over her prone form and seeping into her soul. The night had transformed her. She was not the chattering, heartless socialite that had skipped through the streets of Perros only that morning. She was once again the helpless heroine of some great tragedy, her white gown glowing in the silvery moonlight, her dark hair flying wildly about her tear-stained face.

He longed to run to her and hold her and protect her, but his strange companions warned him to stay put. The two stable boys admonished his impatience, telling him to wait, that the moment to be a hero would come.

The air was still, but for the roar of the ocean, not even a cricket dared to chirp. Then all at once Raoul became aware of the sad, mournful sound of a violin coming from the direction of the church. His instinct was to run towards the source of the mysterious music but the stable boys said to listen.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It was truly the most haunting, most beautiful sound that ever reached a human ear. Each note carried an unspoken burden of grief. Anna really hated to waste such a lovely moment with such a revolting task but she did not deviate from her course. Fighting between revulsion for the horrid hairy spiders she held in her gloved grasp and the urge to run and throw herself at Erik's feet, the redhead concentrated on gently arranging all thirty male tarantulas around Christine's head and shoulders.

One would think that one would notice if one were suddenly covered in very nappy bugs, but the moment the violin struck its first agonizing note Christine had thought of nothing else but to listen to _The Resurrection of Lazarus._ Thus, Anna and Brooke worked under the cover of Erik's music, though the violinist had no idea of what mischief was stirring behind Gustave Daaé's tombstone.

"I hope the boys took care of Raoul," Anna whispered to Brooke as she handed her another spider from the Bag.

"What exactly gave you this crazy idea?" Brooke asked.

"The DVD special features from _Indiana Jones_."

"You are scary. Brilliant, but scary."

The thirty spiders did not argue with their handlers. They sat complacently in their trembling hands and sat complacently on Christine's body. Being all male and of limited brainpower there was not much to amuse them.

The termination of the music's spell and the beginning of a tarantula rampage was nearly simultaneous. Anna waited long enough to hear Raoul hit the church's front steps in a dead faint and for Erik to steal away from his overly-curious rival's body before giving thirty male spiders something get excited about: one lone female tarantula. Her popularity amongst her peers was instant, so was Mlle. Daaé's reaction.

Christine would have shrieked loud enough for her dead father to hear, but the horror of the moment had stolen all of her vocal power. In a matter of terrifying seconds she was shaken out of her blissful trance to find her body covered with huge, hairy arachnids. Batting at her head and shoulders, she attempted to leap to her feet, but found that the spiders that were rapidly crawling down her dress were not her only concern.

Oh, no, it didn't stop at thirty-one tarantulas. She turned to find the train of her gown nail into the ground…and set on fire.

It didn't stop there either…although this had nothing to do with Anna and Brooke…simply a bad reaction between the tarantulas' body chemicals and the heat of the fire. Before Christine knew what was happening hairy tarantula bodies were exploding all over her.

Needless to say, Christine was going berserk: ripping her dress apart, running circles around her father's grave, and finally tearing down to the seashore to throw her frantic body into the water.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Brooke, what are you stopping for?" Anna hissed. She ran back to where her cousin had paused at the church steps to gaze at the limp form of the Vicomte. Her mouth was twisted in a wolfish grin.

"We can't just leave him here," she said. Anna could practically see the things going through Brooke's mind; it was more than a little disturbing. The redhead tugged at her best friend's sleeve.

"C'mon, we have to get back to the inn before Erik does. Raoul'll live. LET'S GO!"

They ran all the way back, completely heedless of any prying eyes that happened to look out of the darkened windows. With all the efficiency that comes with being apprenticed to a ghost the girls scaled a well-placed oak tree and crawled back through their bedroom window. They ripped off their clothes, stuffing the warm, sweaty garments into the closet and pulling on clean, cool nightshifts. They jumped into bed, snuggling beneath the comforter, and silently praying that Erik wouldn't notice anything suspicious.

Brooke sniggered quietly, "I wish we had that on tape."

"I know. I think I almost wet myself from laughing. Wait…there he is!" Two pairs of eyes snapped shut just as Erik peeked through the door. He crept to the bedside to be sure that his little friends were properly tucked in. Bending to kiss their cheeks, as was his nightly habit, he noted that they were breathing hard and their cheeks were hot to the touch…as though they had just run a considerable distance at a dead sprint. He shrugged the thought away and retired to his own room.

Brooke broke the silence, "Did the Phantom of the Opera just kiss us?...Anna? Anna?"

She rolled over and shook her cousin but Anna had fainted away with a contented smile on her lips.


	17. Adventures in Perros: The Phans

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…sniffle…

**summersong: **Oh, I'm going on Jun. 11. (sad)

**A/N: **OK, everybody! Here we go with Cameo City! I'm gonna have to take some artistic license w/ you guys since I don't know (most) of you personally. But thank you everyone for the enthusiasm! Since I got this idea from Songwind, she is appointed chat room leader. Anywho (rubs hands together) let's get started.

Oh, before I forget:

You guys are talking in _italics _with your names attached.

Character dialogue is in " "

Brooke on the web is in

Anna on the web is in

Erik on the web is in ( )

Get it? Got it? Good.

XXXXXXXXX

THE PHANS

It rained, it poured, it thundered…in short, the weather around Perros was making a general nuisance of itself. It so effectively dampened the spirits of the occupants of the Seaside Inn that they all stayed shut up in their rooms moping about the injustice of the world.

Erik was spared from witnessing the peak of Anna and Brooke's madness when a drenched little man arrived at their door with the dresses they had ordered from Madam Trufette's shop. He was then treated to a fashion show.

Brooke accosted the Bag for her digital camera. Anna twirled and posed for her while Erik looked on, keeping his mask on once he discerned the purpose of the silver box in Brooke's hands.

"Brooke, don't you want me to take some pictures of you?" Anna asked as she showed off her forest green riding habit.

"No, no, you can do that later. I haven't done photography is such a long time. I don't know why this didn't occur to me before. Go put on your white evening gown."

As Anna went away to oblige, Erik recalled something and went to his room. He returned shortly carrying two, flat rectangular parcels in his hands.

Approaching Brooke he said, "I meant to give them to you later but now seems as good a time as any." He gave Brooke one of the boxes.

She gaped at the contents, absolutely speechless for a moment, then she gasped, "Erik, are these…real?"

"Of course!" Erik snorted indignantly, offended that she would think he'd offered them anything other than the highest quality diamonds. Setting her camera aside, Brooke lifted a beautiful choker from its velvet-lined case. The design was simple but elegant. Several small diamonds glittered and winked in their gold prongs. Erik took it from her and fastened it around her neck.

"Thank you," Brooke whispered. Erik nodded silently. The delicate swish of silk and lace brought his head up. Brooke heard his sharp intake of breath as his eyes settled on Anna.

It wasn't her ball gown, but the soft white fabrics made her skin glow rosily in the firelight. She had hastily pinned up her long, red curls in a simple 1870's fashion that framed her face prettily. The neckline scooped low and the bodice curled round her body. Erik couldn't help noticing the details. He was a man after all, but he was beginning to realize that Anna was a woman, not a girl.

And being a woman, Anna was fully aware of the attention she was garnering from the Phantom. She blushed at the thought as she shuffled forward. A twinkle at her cousin's throat caught her eye.

"Oh my gosh! Brooke, is that real?" she said.

"Yes, Erik got them."

"Them?" Anna repeated expectantly, her eyes widening hopefully (can you blame her? diamonds _are_ a girl's best friend).

"Here is yours, Anna," Erik said handing the last box to her. She giggled and stammered over the jeweled necklace.

"Thank you, Erik."

The Phantom moved to put it on her as he had done earlier. He plucked the finery from her hands and draped it around her throat. However, it was the cold touch of fine jewels that made Anna shiver, it was the gentle brush of Erik's fingertips at the base of her neck. Trying to distract her mind, she put a hand to her throat and examined the effect of the diamonds as Erik stood behind, gazing at her intently.

Brooke's camera was clicking away like a happy cricket.

"Wow, that last one was good. I'd love to try some aging effects on it in the computer. Hey! Anna, let's go to a chat room. We've been saving the computer's power for a day like this!"

Anna shook the haze from her mind, "Hmm? Oh, yes, let's do that." The girls scampered off to their bedroom. Erik followed. He entered just in time to see them carefully rewrapping their gowns in their boxes. He was used to seeing them in their underwear but being a gentleman he thought it best to avert his eyes as they stripped off their bustles and corsets.

"You can look now," Anna said. They had donned their robes over the chemise and drawers. He noted with an amused smile that they had left the chokers on. Brooke settled the computer on the bed and Anna went to see about getting some Cokes from the Bag.

"Another slumber party?" Erik asked.

"Yep. You can join us if you want…it may be a little shocking."

"I've grown accustomed to that."

"Well, then come on over, but remember what we told you about slumber parties. Most comfortable clothes _only. _Or no admittance."

Erik returned a minute later, his black robe, embroidered with iridescent green, in place of his vest and jacket. He wore only socks on his feet and he set his mask on the nearest nightstand.

Anna patted the space on the bed between her and Brooke, "Come on, Erik."

He shifted awkwardly. This was more than a little out of the ordinary for him, but the girls insisted so he finally climbed on to the bed and settled down in between them. Meanwhile Brooke had made contact.

XXXXXXXXXXX

_OMG! Anna is that u? _

Hey, Songwind. Was up?

_Just talking Phantom w/ the girls, _Songwind replied. _Where've u been? It's been, like, 6 months since we've heard from u. _

Ah, been a little busy…but hey, Brooke's with me she'll be talking in blue…I'm green.

_Got it, _Songwind said, or typed rather.

"Are you actually making contact with someone from _your _time period?" Erik asked in wonder.

"Yeah."

"Well, what is the topic of the conversation?" He leaned forward eagerly, his natural inquisitiveness taking over.

"Um, actually…_you _are the topic of conversation," Anna said quietly.

"What?"

After Anna's SN had been accosted by greetings from every participant in the chat room (all of which included at lot of ! and other typed expressions of excitement), Songwind proceeded to direct the conversation back to the favorite subject.

_Okay…back to Erik…_

"Yes?"

"No, no she's not talking _to _you…just _about _you."

Erik glared apprehensively at the glowing screen.

_OMG! _phantomsangelofmusic bounced excitedly, _I love those Red Death pants...I WANT TO GLOMP THEM…NOW! (drools)_

_I thought you established this already, _said kristinekat13.

_Yesh, but repetition 'tis the hallmark of a phangirl obsession, _phantomsangelofmusic replied.

_LOL. Good point._

_What I'd like to know is what would Erik dress in if he were here in our time? _interjected Phantress.

"Why do they want to know that?" Erik asked, though he was a little afraid of the answer.

"Because they think you're sexy," Brooke said flatly.

_Nothing, _easternelvenlady suggested. You could almost hear her purring the suggestion. There were several exclamations of _SQUEE! _from Mademoiselle Phantom, Sarita, phantomsangel102, and Galasriniel.

"Sweet heavens! Are they mad?"

"Quite possibly."

_I've got it! _cried Loveroftrapdoors, _He'd wear a navy blue T-shirt and a dress-shirt with navy blue pin stripes under a black coat with jeans and boots. You know, that sexy, scruffy look…like he'd just pulled on whatever he could find on the closet floor. (squee!)_

_Got it all figured out, huh? _said Lady Brandybuck of the Shire with a computerized smirk,

_Oh, yes…that and sooooo much more, _Loveroftrapdoors said. She added _BWHAHAHAHA! _to emphasize her point. Her choice of 21st century clothing for Erik received enthusiastic approval.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Erik howled in frustration. Brooke made a quick sketch of the outfit described and showed it to him, while Anna explained that the phangirls were picturing him in said outfit (or nothing at all, but she skipped over that part). Erik growled.

_Hmm, what would the fop wear? _pondered Songwind.

_Who wants to know? _enigmatic mystery snorted derisively.

_I do! _Maska said. The following silence was followed the following suggestion:

How about nothing?

More silence and o0 and a few _Ews_ followed. Brooke hid her face in a pillow to avoid the icy glares of Anna and Erik.

"You," Erik said, "are hopelessly vulgar."

Meanwhile Maska had added a _SQUEE _and a _(faints) _for moral—or, um, immoral—support.

_He'd probably shop at the Banana Republic, _said Alatariel Maris Telcontar.

"Why would he wear a banana?"

"Never mind."

_Hey, that's Elijah Wood's favorite store! _Lady Brandybuck of the Shire hollered,_ There is NO way Raoul and Lijah have anything in common._

_How about the GAP then? _suggested xxXGoddessxofxdeadxloveXxx.

Hey, hey, what is w/ all this fop-talk?

_Excellent observation, Anna, _said Songwind, _Ehem on to sexier subjects…_

_DON JUAN PANTS! (slobbers & glomps), _Tian Sirki stated frantically. _OMG! How is it possible that Gerry could look so delicious? _

_You glomp the pants…I'll glomp his cape, _said Phantress.

_You have come here/_

_In pursuit of deepest urge/_

_In pursuit of that wish which till now/_

_Has been silent…_sang Conan-Lover. She was quickly joined by the whole lot.

"They've been anything but silent," Erik muttered.

"Technically, you can't hear them."

"I know that! Humph, I would love to see them try and…_glomp…_my pants."

As if hearing these sentiments Lady Dark Water said, _How would u even get within three feet of those pants without being punjabbed?_

_AHA! An Erik-Glomping Tutorial, _said ToyMonkey-Ching.

_Let's see…u could hide out in Box Five, _suggested Sarita.

_But you'd have to get him to come out of that hollow column first, _put in Alatariel Maris Telcontar.

_Probably have to get the lasso anyway from him somehow, _said Phantress.

_Oh! Oh! _Willow Rose 3 was then bouncing up and down in her chair, giggling at the sheer genius of her idea. _You could use the fop as bait and while Erik was killing him, you could glomp him from behind!_

This meant with near universal approval. The cheers were interrupted only by Maska and Brooke's cries of _Not Raoul._

_Knowing Erik, he'd be strong enough to wrestle any of us into the lake for a quick drowning before we'd even get his shirt off, _said Alatariel Maris Telcontar.

_OMG! HIS RUFFLY SHIRT! (SHRIEK!) _This came from Galasriniel.

_Okay then…you could sing like Christine and thus, seduce him with your voice and when you've got him hooked…GLOMP! _said enigmatic mystery.

"No one sings like Christine!"

"Erik, calm down."

"NO ONE, I TELL YOU!"

"Uh, Brooke, I don't think this was such a hot idea."

_But of course, in order to sing like Christine, you'd have to get lessons from Erik, _said Alatariel Maris Telcontar.

_Knew you were gonna say that, _moped Tian Sirki.

"EXACTLY!"

"Erik, would you please control yourself?"

"Not until I've had my say. Give me that computer."

"No! Erik, you can't tell them who you are! They'll never believe—"

The Phantom paid her no heed as his lithe fingers flew over the keyboard.

You fools! You dare to assume that you could not only out wit the Phantom of the Opera, but strip away his dignity as well?

_Wow, Anna, that's a little intense, _said Lady Dark Water. _You know we're just joking._

_I'm not, _Sarita chirped merrily.

Meanwhile, back in 1870, a small battle was being waged over possession of certain laptop. Somehow, Anna won.

That wasn't me…it was our friend…um, Erik

Quite a few ? and o0 and a rousing encore of "Be Our Guest" from Conan-Lover answered her.

Um, yeah, so he's sitting here getting a little peeved by this whole glomping thing so he's gonna talk in red

"Okay, Erik, just remember to click that little red button before you type or else everyone will think that Brooke and I are as psycho as you."

"Very well."

(You fools!)

_You said that, _said Lady Brandybuck of the Shire.

(Well, it certainly bears repeating.)

_Hey, what's up with you? We're just having phun time, _said Songwind.

(It's insulting to my dignity.)

_Well, then don't listen…or watch, _she replied. The other phans sat noisily munching popcorn as their friend unknowingly jousted verbally with the Phantom of the Opera.

(I ought to Punjab you.)

_Haha…I get it…u think you're him._

(Him who?)

_Uh, Erik…duh._

(Naturally, I am Erik.)

_No, I mean u think you're THE Erik._

(I _AM the _Erik!)

_That's what I just said._

(Listen, you infuriating little twit, I AM ERIK, THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!)

A few more o0 popped up before Songwind continued.

_Right, buddy, if you're THE Erik, then I'm THE Christine._

(What? Christine! How on earth did you manage to get in here?)

_I didn't say I WAS Christine, weirdo._

(I am not a weirdo.)

_How about psycho?_

(Or a psycho.)

_Okay, freak._

(Nor a freak. I am Erik!)

_Yeah, well, you're freakin' me out._

Finally, someone decided to humor the man behind the angry red words. That someone was kristinekat13.

_Okay, then, ERIK…Why haven't you killed Raoul yet?_

A low, feral snarl sounded in Erik's left ear.

(Simple, because Brooke would do something horrific by way of revenge.)

_Go Brooke! _Maska cheered.

_If you are the POTO, then how come you're afraid of upsetting one phangirl…or, um, Raoul-fangirl?_ asked xxXGoddessxofxdeadxloveXxx.

(Have you lived with these two young women?)

_Um, no._

(I rest my case. Next impertinent question?)

_Why the bloody hell don't you just dump Christine for someone who is actually WORTHY of you? _asked Lady Dark Water.

Erik fumed. (Because she is my perfect angel.)

_Dude, there are so many women who would throw themselves at you…all you'd have to do is open your mouth and sing, _said Mademoiselle Phantom. _I know b/c I'm one of them._

(I highly doubt that, but in any case, I love Christine.)

_OMG! I've seen better matches for you…I mean, for Erik on this site, _said Willow Rose 3. _Heck, I've WRITTEN better matches for Erik._

(How dense are you? I said I love Christine!)

_But…but…she's a cheating WHORE! _cried Lady Dark Water.

There was silence from the other end.

_Oo, I think ya pissed him off there, _said Songwind. Little did they know…the second the "W" word appeared on the screen Erik had flung himself at the innocent computer, bent of destruction. Anna, fearing for the life of her precious machine, had launched herself at Erik, and Brooke had skillfully whisked the computer away to a chair beside the fireplace.

Wow…I don't think I've seen him that pissed off since the masq—er, the New Year's party.

_I'm sorry, _said Lady Dark Water.

Hey, truth hurts.

_So what's going on over there? _asked phantomsangel102.

Anna's sacrificing herself for the sake of her computer…She didn't have much of a chance but it was a valiant effort…He's got her pinned to the bed.

_Doesn't sound too bad, _said easternelvenlady.

Yeah…I think she won after all…she's looks _very _happy. But he's a little dense when it comes to reading women's expressions.

It was indeed true. Erik had blushed furiously when he realized that he was straddling Anna on top of her bed with her arms pinned over her head. He jumped off of her and stood breathing heavily. Was it his imagination or did she actually look pleased about that? Needless to say, Anna was elated. Meanwhile…

_Does he really think he's THE Erik? _asked Phantress.

Hmm, I just got an idea…carry on with the convo, brb.

_Okiday…what would Erik taste like? _inquired xxXGoddessxofxdeadxloveXxx of her fellow phans.

_Black licorice? _said easternelvenlady

_Coffee? _said Conan-Lover.

_Dark chocolate, _said Willow Rose 3. This one got a lot of _squee _and _(melts)._

_How about Hazelnut Steamed Milk? _said ToyMonkey-Ching.

_DONUTS! WITH SPRINKLES! _cried enigmatic mystery.

_o0_

_Hey…WTF happened to Christine's stockings in the movie? _asked ToyMonkey-Ching.

_Hehe, Gerik got a souvenir, _said phantomsangel102.

Someone said _Puff _but before they could discuss the subject, the phamily returned.

K, I just posted a pic of Erik on my space. So go check it out.

"Brooke, what picture did you put up there," Anna asked. A few clicks of the arrow and the picture sprang up before their eyes.

It was the last picture Brooke had taken. Anna was at the forefront, her head bowed and a hand at her throat as she examined the diamond choker. Erik loomed behind her, a tall, awesome figure in black, and his blue eyes glowing from within the mask. The light of the fireplace fell on their right sides, illuminating that half of their bodies with sharp detail. The left half of their figures was outlined by faint lamplight. Though Erik wore his mask, and there still existed the possibility that it was a hoax, somehow no one could doubt what they were seeing. Brooke had managed to capture his power and presence, that sense of mystery and charisma that could only belong to the Phantom of the Opera.

Songwind was the first one back, _OMG. Is that Christine with him?_

NO! That's me!

_You look just like her!_

I do not! She's got mosquito bites for boobs and I'm at least a size B.

Erik groaned and hid his face in a pillow.

One by one, all the phans returned, each almost too shocked to say anything at all.

_Is there something you're not telling us? _said Songwind.

Um, we're in France?

And it's 1870…A.D.

_OMG! (squee!) Is Erik standing right there? Did we actually talk to him? _

(Yes.)

blip! The monitor blacked out.


	18. Adventures in Perros: The Imposter

**A/N: **Oh my goodness! You guys are amazing. (huggles reviewers) I haven't read all of them yet…but I see the number 15 by my inbox and it's making me happy. I apologize about that weird thing about Anna and Brooke's web dialogue being in _nothing _b/c the symbols I used didn't transfer onto the site. So here's another update for you all. It's short but hilarious if I do say so myself.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

THE IMPOSTER

A loud crash shattered Erik's Christine-dominated daydreams. Clutching his trusty Punjab lasso, he traced the sound to the closet in the girls' room. He hesitated for a moment, listening warily to the clumsy shuffling of a large life form struggling stand up.

Erik threw open the door and came mask to mask with someone who looked incredibly similar to Gerard Butler. Both men blinked; Erik in surprise, Gerard from the sudden exposure to daylight.

"You!" Erik gasped. Gerard steadied himself and stared at Erik.

"You bloody imposter! With the pants! And the nose!" Erik shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at the aforementioned body part on Gerard's face.

"I beg your pardon!" Gerard cried indignantly in a thick Scottish accent. Defensively, he raised a hand to his nose. "Of course I have a nose! Haven't you?"

Erik glared balefully at him, fingering the lasso when an obvious thought made itself known.

"How the bloody hell did you get in that closet?" he thundered. Gerard calmly wiped a fleck of spit from his smooth cheek.

"I haven't the slightest idea."

Erik glared at him some more. His burning blue eyes eventually found the duffle bag, sitting quietly on the closet floor, with one of Gerard's feet still stuck in its mouth. Erik bent down and ripped the bag off the imposter's foot. Gerard hit the floor like Charlie Chaplin slipping on a banana peel. As far as it is possible to choke a duffle bag, this is what Erik was now doing.

"This is your fault!"

_MMMF! Chok-ing._

"You don't have lun—_Never mind! _Just. Explain. _THAT!_" Erik gestured violently at the figured sprawled on the closet floor.

_Oh, that. Well, I overheard the girls wishing for him. Had a heck of a time getting him to fit the order. And then there was the business of coughing him up. Whew! Let me tell you—_

"What do you mean by 'fitting the order'?"

_They said they wanted Gerard Butler's phantom but with a Scottish speaking voice. Anyhow, like I was saying—_

"Wait. Are you telling me that he has no idea that he is an imposter?"

_That's right. As far as he's concerned he is you._

"I think I ought to burn you."

_Oh, yeah? Read the tag, buster._

Erik read NONFLAMMABLE in big red letters.

"Curse you."

_Tough luck._

The Bag hit the floor with a heavy thud.

_Ouch._

Erik pondered, watching as Gerard Phantom slowly came around. Suddenly, the sound of a woman's laughter burst through the balcony window. Gerard Phantom was on his feet instantly.

"Christine!" cried both Opera Ghosts with passion as they dashed to the window. In the courtyard below Christine flirted shamelessly with—surprise, surprise—Raoul de Changy.

"Who is that insolent boy with her?" Gerard Phantom growled.

"That would be the fop."

"No, no, the fop is much foppier than that. He has girly hair and the personality of a brown-paper bag."

"That was _your _version. This is the _real _Raoul. Just as that is the _real _Christine."

"Really? Then why does the "real" Christine look like _my _Christine?"

Erik rounded on the imposter. He attempted to tower over him, but it turned out that they were the same height. Erik settled for snarling.

"What makes you think she's _your _Christine?"

"No one else has a mouth that big."

Erik blinked; then contemplated his punjabbing options. All at once, an infinitely better idea occurred to him. A suitably wicked grin twisted his malformed lips beneath the mask. Gerard Phantom didn't see the evil grin, but he did see the maniacal twinkling in Erik's eyes. He became very, very worried.

XXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke breezed into their apartment later that evening to find Erik sitting beside a roaring fire, engrossed in the third Harry Potter book.

"Erik, everybody asked about you at dinner," Anna informed him, tossing her cloak and bonnet onto the table. Erik didn't look up from the novel.

"Not everyone," Brooke reminded her.

"Well, besides, Christine and Raoul," Anna conceded. The girls chattered merrily all the way into their room. They shut the door. Erik set aside his book and waited with anxious anticipation.


	19. Adventures in Perros: The Many Uses of W

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…never have, never will…sigh

**A/N: **Wow, your reviews make my day! Over 200! (happy hobbit dance) Here's another update…picking up where the last one left off. You guys are lucky that I have very boring professors. Anywho. I have some ideas about where this going. I wanted to keep it total insanity but that gets old after a while and plotlines just seem to be a good idea (not that plotlines exclude insanity). So bear with me, everybody, as I navigate my way through this thing. You are my audience and I want to keep you happy. Anywho.

**Tian Sirki: **Never fear, Erik angst is on its way.

**Chapter dedication **for **Mademoiselle Phantom **b/c OMOG is so brilliant I just had to use it in this chappy.

XXXXXXXXXX

THE MANY USES OF WRAPPING PAPER

_SQUEEEEEEEE! _The sheer volume of the noise shook the roof and rattled the windows. Distressed, muffled yelps followed. Erik snickered and smirked as he listened to the sounds of a successful glomping.

Frantic knocking drew his attention to the front door. Securing his mask in its place he answered the knock. A flustered, red-faced Madam de Pouf stood in the hall panting up into the black mask. Erik grimaced and held his breath against the odor of fish and wine.

"Is something the matter, Madam?" he purred.

"I thought I heard someone scream. Is-is everything all right, M. Leroux?" she stammered, breathily. Beneath the mask, Erik's skin turned a fine shade of green.

"Perfectly fine. My dear sisters just discovered our unexpected visitor. That is all."

"Visitor? How did you let him in without my knowing?"

"I am full of surprises, Madam," Erik said with light chuckle bordering on giddy.

Madam de Pouf eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "I suppose he'll be wanting be wanting a room then?"

"No, a spare mattress or cot will suffice. Good night, Madam. Merci." He shut the door in her blinking face, nearly giggling to himself. It was terribly OOC of Erik to behave in such a manner, but the whole affair was so delightfully hilarious that he just couldn't help it.

He had barely resettled himself into his favorite chair—like a cat preparing for a nap—when the bedroom door flew open and then banged shut. Erik's eyes flicked up to see Gerard Phantom leaning all of his weight against the door, panting heavily, turquoise eyes darting about quicker than flies in a picnic basket.

He looked for all the world like a petrified villager fleeing from the Blob. His beautiful maroon vest and tailcoat were suspiciously absent. The ruffly white dress shirt was torn and sticking to him with sweat. His left hand held up his trousers; his right hand held his mask in place beneath a curtain of disheveled black hair. Erik noted with devious pleasure that Gerard was still partially wrapped in the shiny, metallic red wrapping paper with which he had gift-wrapped the intruder for his sisters.

"Vicious little creatures, are they not?" Erik asked with his head tilted to one side as he regarded his terrified counterpart.

"I feel…that I could use a hot bath," Gerard Phantom gasped feebly.

"There is hot water in the kettle back there," Erik said, gesturing toward his own chambers with a long, elegant hand.

"_Thank you!" _The Phantom bolted across the sitting room and disappeared from sight just as an ecstatic pair of cousins tumbled out of their bedroom, hair wildly messy, eyes glowing brightly, limbs tangled in shiny, metallic red wrapping paper.

"Where is Gerry?" Brooke asked Erik in a breathless voice.

"Taking a bath."

"_OMOG! SQUEE!" _The crazed females shot across the apartment faster than a phangirl can type _drool. _There came a shriek of manly indignation, more squealing, and the sounds of a brief struggle before the cousins reappeared. They glided to the fireplace, glazed expressions fixed on their faces. They plopped down on the floor—wrapping paper crinkling noisily—and Erik saw that they each held a black object in their clutches.

"What are you holding?"

"Gerry's shoes," said Brooke.

"Why, pray tell, do you have his shoes?"

They examined the black leather footwear before Anna replied wolfishly, "He has big feet!"

Erik had a strange feeling that he didn't want to have this explained to him. The creak of an opening door drew the phamily's attention to Gerry, who cautiously peered out from Erik bedroom.

"I say, do you have a spare robe?" he said.

"What was that?" Erik asked. Gerry ventured further out to repeat the question. He froze when he saw the wrapping paper-covered women rise from the floor to stare at him, but he had no cause for fear. His own sexiness saved him this time. Seeing Gerry shirtless, with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping in his intense eyes, Anna and Brooke crumbled into a blissful, phangirl heap on the Persian rug.

Erik gave a groan of exasperation as he heaved himself reluctantly from his comfy chair. He gathered Brooke into his arms first and carried her into the other bedroom. Partially from concern, partially from surprise, Gerry darted forward to examine Anna's inert form. Gently, he lifted her into his embrace. The steady drip of bath water from his hair woke her.

Blinking confusedly, Anna's chocolate brown eyes searched for the source of the water and finally came to rest on Gerry's face (lucky girl). She blinked. He blinked back. A strange, stupefied grin spread across her face. Erik arrived just in time to see the finale of the little encounter. Anna threw her arms about Gerry's neck and kissed him long and hard before fainting once again.

Gerry sat holding her, stunned. Erik loomed over them, stunned. He noted with a frown, that Gerry was smiling from ear to ear.

"Maybe her corset needs to be loosened," Gerry suggested.

"_I'll _take care of that!" Erik snarled, rushing forward to snatch Anna from the other Phantom's grasp. He cradled her limp form in his arms, glaring over his shoulder at Gerry as he carried her into her room.

When the spare mattress arrived, Gerry was given the bedroom, while Erik camped out in front the girls' bedroom door. _Maybe he should have punjabbed the imposter after all._

XXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Do I smell some jealousy cooking? Heehee.


	20. Adventures in Perros: Angst and Fluff

Disclaimer: _GERRY IS MINE! MINE, I TELL YOU! _(pouts) Fine…you win; I don't own POTO…or Gerry.

**Mrs. Tom Riddle: **Just as I was reading your review for Ch. 16 and contemplating the increasing popularity of my EOC pairing and thinking "here we go", I suddenly hear Gerry and Emmy singing _We've passed the point of no return…_It felt strangely appropriate. And the stable hands shall be returning…to heck with the Opera House for now…we'll just keep them in Perros for a while.

**Aurora: **(gasp) You live! I am so pleased to hear from you! Glad you liked the chapters. I look forward to seeing that picture. ; - ) You remind me of my cousin…she draws and always has a critical eye for her own work.

**Solecito: **Who gets Gerry? That is an interesting question…and only _I _know the answer (thunder and lightning) BWHAHAHA! I love plot twists…esp. sexy ones.

**kristinekat13: **Yes, Anna is a lucky little devil. Wish it were I.

**Maggie: **Don't you just adore love triangles? They make for so much chaos. On the subject of Patrick!Raoul…I don't like him and neither does Brooke actually. She was very surprised to find the "real" Raoul to be much more handsome and dashing than Patrick!Raoul. If he were to show up…well, he wouldn't last long.

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **(grins wickedly) What does Viggo think?

**Phantress: **YEAH! Tis you! (squeezes air out of reviewer with death-grip hug) You're in Nicaragua? Amazing how small the world has become, is it not? Wow. It just blows my mind. Hmm, Erik in a full body search…(wanders into phantom dreamland)…what? Oh, yes, back to your message…I'm so honored to find that I am your—and I quote—"beloved, favouritest EVER authoress." I shall try to get the Bag to make more appearances.

**Galasriniel: **(delivers a bundle of AE fluff) Enjoy!

**Tian Sirki: **I have to admit the way people are freaking out about the now-questionable outcome of the AE situation is highly amusing…just the response I was looking for. I know…I'm evil (grins evilly).

**whatanoddgirl: **Thank you for that compliment…that's sooo cool!

**jaderose01: **And I'm having a blast writing it and getting your reviews! Tisn't it fun? (hooray for phan phics!)

**Pleading Eyes: **I think cooked jealousy would smell like burnt popcorn.

**Simply Elymas: **I LOVE "Whose Lair is it Anyway?" I'm one of Random's minions and I rejoice in my minionness. I'll take it as a compliment to be compared to her totally awesome phic.

Anywho. On to Chapter 20!

XXXXXXXXXXX

ANGST AND FLUFF

_Life sucked donkeys. _

Erik winced at his mind's choice of words. He'd been in the cousins' corrosive company for far too long. All the same, the vulgar phrase just fit his feelings like a black leather glove. The Phantom of the Opera sat moping in the terribly quiet sitting room of his Perros apartment. Cheery mid-morning sunlight filtered through the lacy curtains of the balcony windows, which were opened to provide the somber ghost with a view of the distant seashore. The nauseating sounds of people thoroughly enjoying themselves assaulted his sensitive ears.

Grumbling something about the uselessness of such persons, he stomped across the room and shut the windows with a loud BANG. It irked him that the world went on its merry, frivolous way, whilst he slouched about, mired in self-pity. It was horribly unfair.

Erik stamped a foot angrily, though much of his anger was directed at himself. Why was he is such a foul mood? Rejection, loneliness and other disagreeable things of that nature were nothing new to his heart. So why did it ache so terribly now?

Christine was off somewhere enjoying the company of her precious Vicomte. Nothing new there, much as he loathed that particular circumstance. No, it was that stupid imposter's fault. Ever since that Gerry fellow had popped out of that infernal Poppins Bag, Erik's life had become positively abysmal. Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, Erik knew exactly why Gerry's presence troubled him so.

He missed the cousins. The poor unhappy Phantom had grown attached to his little companions. It had almost happened without his realizing it. He just grew so accustomed to their comforting, though strange company that he had begun to take it for granted. Now they were out, soaking up the delicious summer sun with Gerry. Erik hissed. He should have just punjabbed him on the spot.

He inwardly cringed each time he recalled the way Anna had kissed the intruder…so passionately. Secretly, he regretted her infatuation with their "guest" the most. Erik shrank away from the strange flutter in his heart. He did not want to think that this handsome fellow, with his muscular frame and chiseled face, was the Phantom that she truly desired…the one that he was not.

_NO! _This would never do! Brooding over the matter would only make it worse. What did he care if Anna chose to give her heart to that charlatan? _He _loved Christine! _Christine! _Erik groaned out loud as an even more wretched notion popped into his dark mind: what if Christine had become fascinated by this new Phantom as well?

Despite the insistence of the girls and the general warmth of the inn's patrons, Erik did not venture out into public very often. Old habit, he guessed, but he had heard, via the reliable Madam de Pouf, that Gerry had become quite a favorite amongst all of the young ladies. Erik blanched at the thought. Naturally, those silly, air-headed chits found Gerry fascinating…he only wore half a mask! The rest of his face was hardly something to complain about. He was tall, aloof, raspy-voiced. _Why was he thinking about this?_

But Christine? Surely his beloved angel did not simper over the exquisite new comer? Surely she would now abandon her little Vicomte so quickly or easily as that? Erik was certain that she was devoted to her childhood sweetheart. Yes? No? The curiosity burned and ate at him like a hungry dragon. One brave, young suitor was enough to deal with, but two? He _had _to know! But there were no secret corridors to slink through, no trick mirrors, barely even a shadow. This was not the Opera House.

Erik sank into a chair, brooding darkly. Then he got an idea.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Oy, Que! Did ye hear the squealin' frum that Miss Lohan when she found the toad I left in 'er bag for 'er?" Pip asked his friend. Que nodded sleepily, curled up like a barn cay on a prickly hay bale. Frowning, Pip jabbed the dozer in the ribs.

"C'mon, me man! Ye got to tell me wha' ya thought'a the little prank!" Pip was an incurable show off who insisted on being satisfied with no less than a standing ovation. It was thus that Erik found them.

"There you are, you young renegades!" he snarled, imitating the barking voice of the stable master. The lazy grooms leapt to their feet, tripping over each other in their rush to appear to be working diligently. Their shoulders drooped with visible relief when they saw the tall, lithe form standing over them.

"'Tis only you, Mr. L," Que gasped. "Ye gave us a bad turn there."

"You deserve worse than that for sleeping the afternoon away," Erik said sternly, but the boys did not miss the twinkle in his deep-set blue eyes.

"So it was you, Pip, who put that toad in the mademoiselle's bag."

Pip colored, shuffled his feet, mumbling something about not meaning to.

Erik continued, "And I was about to blame my little sisters for it. However, I shall not tell a soul of your hand in that nasty trick if you rendered me a valuable service."

Two pairs of eyes darted to the blank, black mask, newsy-capped heads tilting to one side. Erik chuckled to himself. They reminded him so much of rambunctious, floppy-eared puppies. He wondered briefly how much he would like to trade places with the humble, manure-stained servants.

"What's on yer mind, Mr. L?" Pip asked, adopting the pose of a man on the verge of sealing a shady deal.

"I need information on certain person staying here at the inn."

The boys grinned. "Who exactly?"

"Monsieur Gerard. Whom has he been seen with?"

Que cast a confused look at his compatriot, then glanced back up at Erik, saying, "But shouldn' ye be a-knowin' tha' yerself, Mr. L? The gen'leman _is _stayin' with ye…isn't he?"

"Yes, but as you are no doubt aware, I do not get out much. I have heard only rumors of his activities outside our apartments."

Pip hacked and made an unpleasant show of spitting out a slimy chunk of chewing tobacco. Beneath the mask, Erik arched a delicate eyebrow in disdain.

"Weel," the blond imp began, hiking up his trousers, "S'far as I know, he's been in the company of yer own sisters. Don' mingle much with no one else, sir."

"He does not interact with any other young ladies from the inn?"

"Nope. Though I know there's a terrible lot of 'em gels wot's been eyeing 'im," Que answered as he began to relocated himself on the nearest hay bale.

"None at all? Not even someone as enchanting as Mademoiselle Daaé?"

The boys stifled some undignified snickers. No doubt they were thinking of tarantulas. Pip recovered first, "Nope, Mr. L, he 'asn't paid 'er no mind. Jus' been with yer sisters."

To his own amazement, Erik found that he was not sure if this news was relieving or not.

"Where are they at the moment?"

Que yawned and stretched with luxurious slothfulness and motioned vaguely in the direction of the English Channel, "Broo—I mean, Miss Leroux said they was off to the beach fer the afternoon."

Erik stood silent and grave, glowering at the floor. Pip shifted slowly to the taller man's side.

"We could…ye know, keep an eye on 'im, Mr. L. If it would ease yer mind at all."

Erik shook himself out of his thoughts, "Yes, yes, that would be greatly appreciated. Merci." He spun on one heel and marched out of the stables. Pip shook his head.

"Batty Frenchmen!" he said but Que was already fast asleep and never heard him.

XXXXXXXXX

It was enough to make a love-starved, mutated, genius recluse lose his breakfast. Erik scowled menacingly at the disgustingly fluffy scene before him. He wanted to smash it to pieces, but his innate love of beauty overcame his innate anger and he simply stood observing in silence.

Beneath the shade of a small oak, twisted out of shape by years of gusty sea winds, a little group of picnickers lounged with hazy, sun-soaked contentment on a red blanket. Their stockings and shoes, presumably cast off in favor of a walk through green-grey waters, lay in a careless heap beside the basket of vittles.

Cushioned by a ragged pillow, Anna leaned her back against a suitable groove in the trunk of the tree, cradling Gerry's head in her lap. Her brown-eyed gaze was fixed on a distant point on the horizon. She absentmindedly ran her delicate fingers through his thick black curls. Stretched out with languid grace, the delicious Phantom held Anna's left hand in his while the other plucked gently at the sleeve of Brooke's blouse.

The brunette was leaning her body against Gerry's for support as she read out loud to her companions:

_A girl stood before him in midstream: alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and softhued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face._

_She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek…_

Some strange stirring in her heart caused Anna to glance up as her cousin read on. Her eyes roamed hither and thither and finally, turning her head she saw Erik standing behind them. She flushed, for she had caught him, staring as intently at her as Stephan at his mysterious Bird Girl.

"Erik," she said and the others saw him too. "What are you doing out?"

Erik's mind fumbled awkwardly for a moment though his mannerisms betrayed none of it.

"I thought I take a nice _long _ramble through the woods around the village. Why don't you join me, Anna?" He stepped forward, unfurling his hand to her. To his utter horror and disgust, she broke their gaze and turned to Gerry, as if asking for permission. The dark-haired Scot nodded curtly.

"Have fun, my love," he said, lifting himself from her lap. Anna giggled and kissed him lightly on the lips even as Brooke lovingly entwined her arms around his. The cousins were remarkably good about sharing, even when it came to sinfully gorgeous men.

Erik stood in icy silence, waiting for Anna to pull on her stockings and shoes. She flitted to his side, dusting sand from her blue skirts, apparently unaware of his jealousy as they walked toward the lush green forest.

XXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Sorry if that last part was a little on the serious side, but if there's one thing I've learned from Charlie Chaplin, it's that comedy and gravity combined make for excellent stories. BTW, that long passage in italics is from James Joyce's _A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man _(which I do not own).


	21. Reflections of a Bugeyed Moron

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…

Okay, this chapter might be a little boring…but I'm trying a different twist on Christine (I won't say new b/c it's probably been done) and so this chapter is one of those necessary hoops through which I must jump in order to move the story forward as I see fit.

**Phantress: **I have to admit that "Life sucked donkeys" is not an original line. I got it from a rerun of a "Wayne's World" sketch on SNL. Wayne and Garth are doing movie reviews and they get around to _The Bear _and Wayne has this look on his face as he says the title, like, _Why did they even think about making this? _and he says, "_The Bear _sucked." Garth agrees and one of them decides to reemphasize the point with the "sucked donkeys" comment. It was hilarious. (sniggers) Got Erik quoting "Wayne's World."

**Solecito: **Christine drained? Oh, no, she is back, my friend, in all her bug-eyed moronic-ness. Who else will be the target of Anna and Brooke's insanity?

**IndiaPyro: **Sorry about the whole spiders thing. I hate them, too. Don't ever see _8-legged Freaks. _

**Ridel: **I am not at all opposed to EC-ness and I am not usually inclined to Christine-bashing unless it's hilariously written. However, the story has taken control of itself and what can I do? (air tank breathing effect) _I MUST obey my master. _P.S. I knew someone was going to make the green eyes argument. I think they're blue, but, hey, so long as they sparkle and burn.

**Maggie: **In answer to your question in the post script of your review: neither.

**jaderose01: **I never thought I'd be capable of making phans despise Gerry (besides those who don't like him already). I'd think I was ill too, but I'm enjoying the reaction.

**Tian Sirki: **Here's a **CHAPTER DEDICATION **for you b/c you asked for some more involvement of Christine and you got it!

**SimplyElymas: **I'm sure Erik would be pleased with your reaction (Erik hands reviewer a special edition Punjab lasso). I don't how this became an OW phic. (shakes head as characters run amuck).

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **If I could see to the ends of the earth…I'D TAPE MY EYELIDS OPEN!

**MiserableRevloutionary: **Congrats! You are the first person to pick up on that. Yes, the tailor is named after Jean Valjean from _Les Mis. _

**Mrs. Tom Riddle: **I can't believe you actually felt compelled to Punjab Gerry! (looks impressed)

**And everyone else begging me to send Gerry home: **He's feeling pretty comfortable where he is…so I think he'll stick around to torment Erik a while longer.

Anywho. On with the show.

XXXXXXXXXXX

REFLECTIONS OF A BUG-EYED MORON

Christine never told anyone about the tarantulas. It might have been because she feared the quizzical arch of eyebrows and the subtle squeak of chairs putting a few more inches betwixt their occupants and her. It might have been in response to the suspicious and not-so-friendly parchment airplanes that had soared in through her bedroom window. _cough. _Or she might have simply written off the whole horrific experience as a nightmare brought on by moonlight and too much violin. In any case, she never told.

She spent the following three or four days in bed, making herself as pitiable as possible, berating Raoul for not coming to see her even though he had been found passed out on the church steps. Mlles. Duff and Lohan came to visit her every evening after dinner.

"Christine, you simply _have _to see the new man staying with the Leroux family," Hilaire chirped, bouncing in her seat, head wobbling from side to side. The singer had long ago given up any attempts to follow the movements of the bobbling blonde.

"The Leroux family?" she questioned with uncertainty.

Hilaire frowned, then playfully swatted Christine's shoulder, "Those funny girls you talked to in the street the other day!"

_Erik's sisters? _So _they _were the Leroux family! Christine sat up with renewed interest.

"What man?"

"He's utterly divine," said Lizette, heaving and breathing as though she were practicing for a _Baywatch _audition.

"Truly?" Christine leaned forward, like a fish biting a hook, begging for the details. _Who in the world could Anna and Brooke know that was 'utterly divine'? _

"Yes!" Hilaire squealed. "He's very tall and very strong. Blue eyes that are to die for. The half of his face that you can see is the _most _handsome I have ever beheld!"

Christine's brow furrowed and her bulbous eyes narrowed enough so that they looked normal. "What do you mean the half you can see?"

"He wears a mask like M. Leroux, only this one only covers a part of his face. Though he acts like M. Leroux, very aloof and quiet," said (and heaved) Lizette.

Christine worried her bottom lip. This news startled her. _More masks? _Maybe Erik had a brother.

"What is the gentleman's name?"

"Monsieur Gerard."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"_THAT'S _M. Gerard!" Christine's jaw nearly hit the ground. Her companions moaned in response. He was all they had described and more: tall, dark, handsome, intriguing…sexy. _Why couldn't Erik be like that?_ The dim-witted trio clustered round a rose bush, peeking through the branches as the dashing fellow walked toward the beach, flanked by the Mlles. Leroux. The lukewarm slime of a dribble of drool oozing down her chin caught the soprano's attention. Hastily swiping it away, she ran to join her friends in a carriage bound for town.

Christine did not say much during the brief journey. Instead, she did something admirably serious and shockingly mature: she reflected. (Everyone picture giant Christine-shaped mirror).

Hilaire and Lizette were good friends. Good in the sense that they were rich and well positioned in society—plus, they wore the same size clothes as Christine. However, they would never understand the difficulty of her situation. They could chatter and squee over the hotness that was M. Gerard, with some hope of gaining his favor. Christine, on the other hand, was doomed to abstain from such girly pleasures. (Christine sits up straighter and adopts martyr-like look).

Christine recalled with a faint smile the image of her father talking in a fevered pitch, with wild gestures, of his plans for her future…

_Que sentimental, fuzzy flashback._

XXXXXXXXXXX

"_Rich and famous, Little Lotte! You shall be rich and famous! You will have sparkly jewels and pretty dresses. You will be invited to all of the best parties. Everybody will know your name!" Gustave Daaé cried with gusto._

_His little daughter gazed up at his handsome, towering figure in bug-eyed wonder._

"_But how, papa?"_

"_I shall teach you to sing like an angel and you shall be an opera star like maman," Gustave Daaé crooned, kneeling down and pulling his darling daughter into his strong, loving arms._

"_Like Maman! And will that make me rich and famous?" she asked, bubbling over with excitement. _

"_Famous to be sure, Little Lotte, but to be truly rich you must marry well."_

"_Whom shall I marry, papa?"_

"_Raoul de Changy."_

_Little Christine giggled with childish delight. She liked Raoul. He had rescued her red scarf from the sea. She snuggled deeper into her father's embrace, inhaling the dusky smell of tobacco smoke and cedar wood. As she drifted into sleep, she dreamt of jewels and prima donnas and how she would always have papa and Raoul to make them hers._

XXXXXXXXXX

But papa died before she reached her eighth year and Christine had passed into the hands of Madam Valerius, a kindly, but poor woman living in Paris, entirely unconnected with the de Changy family. Thus, in one swift move, Christine had lost all hope of ever achieving the goals to which her father had urged her to aspire.

For years, even after Madam Valerius had sent her to study at the Paris Opera House, Christine harbored a deep resentment towards her father. She despised the glittering castle of fairy tales he had built around her, all those dreams and aspirations, only to tear them down in a single, fatal blow.

Perhaps the bitterest disappointment was the apparent non-existence of the Angel of Music. As he lay dying, just a faint shadow of his former self, Gustave told his little child of the Angel of Music, who would come to guide her and train her voice after her father had gone to heaven. Madam Valerius had supported and encouraged this notion and little Christine believed them. She clutched to that small, thin strand of hope for some time until she bitterly relinquished it as well.

_If I didn't know that Christine's sorrow was entirely motivated by materialism, I'd almost feel sorry for her. Almost (snorts)._

At one time she suspected her father had done it on purpose. But Gustave Daaé was not as careless as his selfish, little bug-eyed brat imagined.

XXXXXXXXXX

When the famous Swedish violinist had first perceived that Plan A for his daughter's rise to fame and fortune was going to nose-drive six feet under ground, he instantly instituted Plan B. A speedily dispatched letter found its way into the long, cold, (sexy), elegant hands of a certain musically inclined ghost, via the ever-reliable Madam Giry.

Naturally, this certain ghost had been surprised to receive such correspondence from the talented violinist he had briefly befriended during the Opera Garnier's opening year. The ghost was suspicious and apprehensive about Daaé's request on behalf of his soon-to-be-orphaned daughter. It was an unusual demand, to say the least; and the particulars were rather insulting. So the dying father was desperate enough to appeal to a madman to help his child, but asked that said-madman hide his true identity and teach her under the guise of the 'Angel of Music.'

Eventually, the ghost replied to the frantic letter, answering that he _would_ acquiesce to Daaé's request, though, in truth, the ghost had no intention of keeping his promise. Daaé was relieved, thinking that he had secured Christine's ticket on the road to fame. As for riches, he banked on his pretty little girl catching Raoul's or some other wealthy lad's eye once she was in the limelight. Everything would go well for her…he was such a clever, caring father.

What he hadn't counted on was the heart of the lonely ghost.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thirteen years since the death of Gustave Daaé, Christine had her hands full, juggling the two men who were her keys to rebuilding that glittering castle. She was scheming to climb to the top of the social ladder, but unlike Thackeray's Becky Sharp, whom she so resembled in ambition, Christine did not intend to do the bulk of the work for her pot-of-gold. Erik would make her famous and Raoul would make her rich. All she had to do was please both men without offending either. Easier said than done, it turned out.

One really has to wonder what was going through Gustave's fever-stricken mind when he decided to ask a deranged, reclusive murderer to teach his daughter to sing. Erik was totally unpredictable. His passion for Christine was a double-edge sword. She could be sure he would stop at nothing to make her the best soprano the world had ever heard, but he had his own desires to fulfill as well. He was like a temperamental Greek deity, showering his mortal pet with gifts worthy of a goddess one moment and raining lightning on her the next.

Christine played on Erik's love for her as much as she dared. A light brush of fingertips here, a fleeting glance there, a little blush, a lot of swooning, she did her best. It was enough to make the poor Phantom shake with agonizing desire, but any interaction with the Vicomte de Changy would send him on a terrifying rampage. Christine's only concern was not her cruel destruction of Erik's hope, but her own safety.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine climbed out of the carriage and followed her ditzy friends into the nearest shop.

"What a shame Raoul did not join us," Hilaire gurgled.

"Yes, what a shame," Christine mumbled, obviously miffed at the thought. To her surprise, the young Vicomte was turning out to be much more difficult than she had anticipated. Apparently, Raoul had some idea that he expected Christine to love him whole-heartedly for himself, not his wealth or title. She did her best to flatter him, to appeal to his innate sense of romanticism and heroism with her chilling tale of the Opera Ghost's deadly obsession. It rather irked Christine that Raoul was not easy to manipulate. Just like his archrival, Raoul was only a means to an end.

"Too bad M. Gerard seems to be only interested in the Mlles. Leroux," Lizette was saying to Hilaire. Christine shook herself out of her reflective trance to listen.

"Ay. He never says a word to anyone else, but he seems devoted to _them," _Hilaire said sadly.

Christine felt a little more hopeful. Perhaps this new fellow would distract those "sisters" from protecting Erik. She often got the uneasy feeling that Anna and Brooke were on to her. She was having a hard enough time as it was without those two marring her carefully constructed web.

If only she knew…


	22. The Man Behind the Fop

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…honestly if you sue me for this…you'd need to get a life.

Okiday…launching right in to things.

XXXXXXXXX

THE MAN BEHIND THE FOP

Brooke's sharp green eyes stayed fixed on the retreating figures—one short and bouncy, the other tall and stately—until the forest swallowed them up. She pondered for a moment, leaning against the solid, warm wall of Gerry's chest.

"I think," she began slowly, "That you actually made him jealous."

"Yes, I believe I did, though I never thought myself capable of it," he replied.

Brooke found Erik's slight possessiveness of Anna rather amusing, not to mention intriguing. She wanted to discuss the matter, dissect it, exam it from every angle, dice it and serve it with chips and salsa. In short, she wanted to gossip. However, the little brunette highly doubted that Gerry had the tolerance to indulge her sudden girlish urges. He might be affectionate and attentive, but he was still a Phantom and prone to irritability.

Stuffing the urge into a mental desk drawer, Brooke extended her body along the blanket for a quiet nap. The rush and roar of the waves washed over her mind and the warmth of the sun made her eyelids droop. As she dozed off, she heard Gerry's velvety voice gently humming in her ear.

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun had crawled past its mid-day peak by the time Brooke and Gerry returned to the inn. The young woman was gleefully aware of the whispers and stares that their appearance excited. Brooke's lavender day dress and brown hair looked pleasantly rumpled and Gerry had carelessly forgotten to put his coat back on. Not that any of this really matter to the other patrons or the landlady. They lived for this sort of intrigue.

A roomful of bright female eyes hungrily raked Gerry's muscular figure, but the Phantom shot up the stairs like a shadow, intent upon holing himself up in his room with a good book. Brooke, with her well-trained Phantom instincts, took this as a signal for 'alone time.' Most women would have found this sudden change in behavior insulting, but good phangirls like Brooke understood that it was simply a natural part of a Phantom's programming.

She traded her gown for a simple navy blue skirt with an apron front, a crisp, white blouse, and a peplum jacket that matched the skirt. Taking leave of Gerry with a kiss on his unmasked cheek, she trotted back downstairs.

The handsome Phantom smirked to himself as his stretched his long, thick limbs, like a cat unfurling itself from a nap. He had noted with smug satisfaction that Erik and Anna were still missing from the inn's company. Things were working out much more smoothly he had anticipated. Sauntering into Erik's bedchambers, which was now his own, Gerry nonchalantly picked up a stray music sheet. His brow as he read "For Christine" scrawled across the top of the page in red ink. Yes, there was still the issue of the soprano. Gerry shrugged the thought away with elegant ease. He'd worry about that later. For now, a nice, hot, steamy bath sounded heavenly.

XXXXXXXXXX

The continued absence of Erik and her cousin did not escape Brooke's notice. Now that the memory of Erik's little bout of envy had resurfaced, she was dying to pin it under a microscope for inspection. She glared around the common room.

Everyone here thought that she and Anna and Erik were all siblings. Therefore, Brooke appropriately sensed that it would not be a smart move to march up to a table of youthful aristocrats and blurt: "You-know-that-masked-guy?-No-no-the-one-that-y'all-think-is-our-brother?-Yeah-well-he's-_not-_our-brother-and-I-think-he-has-a-thing-for-my-sister-who's-really-my-cousin-What-do-you-think?"

_Lord, _she thought to herself, _Sounds good enough for a spot on Springer. _Finding the main buildings short on confidants, the petite brunette set off to search the stables.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pip hastily stuffed a jug of smelly toxin under a mound of moth-eaten blankets. Que bestirred himself from a catnap to find his friend staring at the hayloft's ladder with the intensity of a fox watching a rabbit hole.

"Wot es it, Pip?" he growled, his voice groggy but loud.

"_Shh!" _the other hissed. "Thought I 'erd sumptin down below." Que sat up to listen, too. The stable hands strained their sharp ears. All they heard were the snorts and stamps of the horses shifting in their stalls.

"Yer goin' batty, ol' chap," Que slurred, twisting about in search of the jug. Pip relaxed.

"S'pose yer roight."

"_BOO!" _came a clear, dooming voice. The hobbits squealed like piglets in a wolf's den, leaping five feet into the air. Hay exploded all around them and Pip nearly overturned the precious brown jug. When the flurry of prickly, yellow straw settled, the stable boys stood eye-to-eye with Brooke Leroux.

"Bloody 'ell, Miss!" Pip roared, red-faced and frantically digging straw from his trousers.

A sinister chuckle escaped her lips. "Sorry if I gave you a scare."

"Ye an' t'rest of yer family," he snarled. "Ow do ye all manage tha' sneekin' about?"

"Practice," she answered smoothly. Que had found the jug and was calmly picking straw from his teeth.

"What are you up to?" Brooke asked. Pip quickly tossed a blanket over his friend as he bit into a plump, red apple.

"Nuffin," he mumbled. Brooke arched a distrusting eyebrow.

"I know moonshine when I see it," she said. Pip colored for a second, then looked impressed that an upper-class lady would know about a thing as vulgar as moonshine. Deciding that it was safe, Pip withdrew the blanket. Que was curled up in a fetal position, snoring. Pip kicked him.

"Wot's tha' for?" the brown-haired boy snapped. His companion took no notice of the complaints as he situated himself beside a hay bale set up as a table. Brooke noticed the dirty, dog-eared deck of cards for the first time.

"Care fer a game, miss?" Pip asked. Brooke smirked and plopped herself down. They entered a heated round of poker. Brooke won. Que found this amusing, Pip was aghast at having been beaten by a girl.

"Maybe ye'd like a swig o'the jug, too?" Pip glowered, holding the container out to her. Brooke took it and sniffed the spout. She pulled a sour face.

"I don't drink stuff that smells like cat pee."

"Wimp," Pip scoffed as he took back the jug.

"Besides, I'm not twenty-one yet," she said, ignoring Pip's crudeness. Que sat up and stared blearily at her.

"Wot does bein' twen'y-one hafta do wiff it?"

Brooke blinked. They were right. Still…cat pee?

"Where's yer sister?" Que asked suddenly. Brooke brightened as she recalled her point in coming here in the first place. The stable hands seemed good enough confidants. She opened her mouth to explain the situation when the sound of soft foot falls caught their ears.

Pip dove to cover the jug as Que and Brooke crept to the edge of the hayloft and peered down at the figure standing in the door of the stable. Brooke inhaled sharply in surprise.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Raoul de Changy strolled down the stable corridor, pausing to stroke the velvet nose of a particularly fine Friesian stallion. He soaked in the quiet, warmth of the stable, the strong, friendly odor of horse's hide and tack. Christine had begged him to accompany her and her friends to town for another day of shopping. He winced at the mere thought of being dragged through every shop and bombarded with constant female chatter.

The Vicomte stepped back to admire the animal in front of him. Here he was in his element. The quiet creak of shoes on wood made him whirled around in surprise. He blinked for a moment, his tousled head tilting to one side as regarded the young woman.

She was not much bigger than Christine, short, petite, but pleasantly plump in the right places. Her brown curls were haphazardly arranged, the majority slumping off to one side of her head while a few stray locks dangled over her forehead. Her tanned skin glowed with the healthy flush of youth and her face and blue eyes were very pretty. Raoul noted with some amusement that her clothes were dusted with strands of hay.

"Bonjour, monsieur," she said. Raoul started at the sound of her voice. There was something vaguely familiar about it. He remembered his manners, bowed to her, and returned the salutation. She curtsied.

"You like that horse, M. le Vicomte?" she asked. Raoul was not surprised at her knowledge of his identity. Most people were good at sniffing out nobility.

"Yes, he is a fine animal. Beautiful color."

Raoul shifted uncomfortably as an awkward silence settled over them.

"What is your name, mademoiselle?" he asked.

"Brooke," she replied. Raoul frowned at the absence of a surname. It wasn't proper etiquette, but he shrugged it aside.

"I have not seen you around much, Mlle. Brooke. Have you just arrived?"

"No, I have been here since the first of June."

"Curious that we have not met yet," he said. Brooke colored slightly, and then she smirked.

"Yes, _very _curious."

Raoul did not know why, but he felt as though they had met before. Perhaps he was mistaken for he was certain he would remember a face as pretty as hers. Suddenly, a wave of guilt washed over him. He shouldn't be standing here admiring a strange girl. He should be thinking of Christine.

_But Christine isn't here, _a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. The girl had begun to back away, her face downcast, and if he wasn't deceiving himself, a little disappointed. _To hell with propriety._

"Would you care to tour the gardens, Mlle. Brooke?" he asked, stepping forward and offering her his arm. A brilliant smile lit her features as she accepted. Raoul's heart jumped. He never knew he could make a woman smile like that. He rather liked the feeling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brooke could hardly contain her excitement as she looped her arm through the Vicomte's. When he wasn't looking, she cast a quick victory glance up at the hayloft. Pip and Que smiled and waved goodbye.

Raoul de Changy was twice as handsome in the light of the setting sun than in the dim shadows of the theatre. His dark brown hair fell in his eyes and she had to grip her skirt to resist the temptation to brush it aside. He was not as tall as Erik or Gerry, but she could feel the thickness and definition of his muscles beneath the fabric of his coat sleeve. Brooke desperately hoped that he was nearly as foppish as she had always believed him to be.

"Do you come from Paris, Mlle?" he asked, his voice timid but masculine.

"Yes, and you?"

"Yes, though my family estate is farther north from here." They continued talking in this polite manner for some time, strolling beneath bowers of jasmine and roses and honeysuckle. Brooke felt somewhat miffed at the boring topics of conversation. She wanted to know what he liked to read, if he read at all; what historical figures inspired him; his interests and hobbies; his favorite color. Oddly enough, the same questions were in his mind.

_Screw decorum, _Brooke thought.

"What is your favorite color, M. le Vicomte?"

Raoul looked taken aback for a moment. He halted their walk to stare at her for a moment before answering: "Blue. And what is yours?"

"No, no…the answer is not so easy as that. What shade of blue? Do you like baby blue, sky blue, turquoise, aquamarine, cobalt, indigo…"

"Navy blue," he said. "Like the color of your skirt."

Brooke blushed delicately, though inside she was doing a happy hobbit dance. _Score!_

"Now what is your favorite color?" he asked.

"Blue."

"In what shade?"

"Turquoise. Blues with hints of green are the best. They are so fresh and deep."

Raoul raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You put a lot of thought into these things?"

"Details are important. Now, why do you like horses?"

Raoul stopped again, this time he gently guided her under the shade of an elm tree.

"I like horses because they are so beautiful and powerful. I envy their speed and swiftness. They are elegant creatures, almost ethereal when you look into their eyes. Yet, they are so earthy, their smell, their touch. I'll never forget my first gallop. I was much younger of course, but this horse and I had grown up together. It was his first time with a saddle and he was having some difficulty, being ornery and stubborn. Then, all at once, something just seemed to come together in his mind, and he forgot about the iron horseshoes and the saddle and he just flew. What a rush! It was as if he and I were one organism, one being. It was the most freeing experience of my life."

Raoul stopped suddenly. He blushed as he realized he had been rambling. Christine would have been crying from boredom by now. "Forgive me, I did not mean to bore you."

"Oh, no! I think that was the loveliest thing I've ever heard. I love horses, too, so I know the feeling," she replied, smiling up at him with something that looked like admiration and relief. Raoul was genuinely stunned, impressed, and intrigued all at once. _Who was this girl? _


	23. Puzzle Trees and Puzzled Thoughts

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…or Gerry (but I have plans…MWAHAHA)

Okay…one more serious bit and then I promise chaos will return and most of it will be inflicted upon Christine. But, here's what you've all been asking for…Anna and Erik.

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PUZZLE TREES AND PUZZLED THOUGHTS

Being a natural leader and more "in tune" with nature than Erik, Anna quickly took over the impromptu expedition. Grabbing Erik's hand, she bolted into the woods, dragging the Phantom along behind her.

"Look! Puzzle trees!" she gasped, rushing forward to examine the trunk of a particular tree.

"What do you mean by puzzle trees?" Erik asked, jogging up behind her.

"My mom and I used to do this when I was a kid. See, you can remove bits of the bark and then try to fit them back in place like a puzzle. Try it!" She nudged him with her elbow. Erik felt rather foolish participating in a child's game, but he indulged her. They were at it for a few minutes. To his surprise, Erik was not very good at the game. He kept snapping his puzzle pieces in half or forgetting where he had found them in the first place. He had finally succeeded when Anna scampered off to inspect a pool of violets that had caught her eye.

He soon discovered that her obsession with flora and fauna reached far beyond the contents of a florist's cart. She seemed intent upon exploring every glade, examining every patch of grass, and scrutinizing every plant in the forest. Anna drank in every blossom her nose could find; her eyes darted after squirrels and chipmunks, her ears strained to hear the songbirds. She would pause to stare at particular plant or forest animal with startling intensity. A strange, wistful smile played across her features.

There were moments when she would stand as still as a statue, just gazing vaguely at the hushed beauty around her. One such moment came after they stumbled upon a chattering brook, hidden by thick walls of frothy-plumaged ferns. Sporadic patches of sprightly, orange columbines and demure, blue harebells nodded friendly greetings from along the mossy banks. The water rushed on, unnoticing in its urge to reach the sea, spilling over rocks slick with red moss. They trudged upstream for a while: climbing over rotting, fallen logs and rough-edged boulders until they found a place where the stream seemed to tire. Amongst feathery blooms of azalea bushes, the water calmly collected its senses in a shallow pool, teaming with brightly colored trout. Here Anna paused to fix her eyes on an unidentified point on the other side of the pool.

Erik began to wonder what exactly stirred her to such odd behavior. He knew only too well the holds that passion could lay upon the soul. When he played his bitter, harsh _Don Juan Triumphant _or listened to Christine sing, he felt as though his body were not his own anymore. Music lifted the veil betwixt his wretched existence and the world of light. He wondered if Anna's love of wild things did the same to her.

"Anna, why are you staring at nothing?" he asked, breaking the silence between them.

She seemed startled by his voice, her widened eyes flying to his face, so that she reminded him of a deer.

"I'm not staring at nothing. I was admiring the way the light hits the leaves of that birch tree. See? It makes them glow."

Turning his musings inward once more, Erik thought about his ability to see the unseen in darkness, while her eyes saw the unseen in the light. Such a strange contrast. What did she see when she looked at him by the light of day?

"Why do you love this so much?"

"I suppose it's because I feel closer to God when I am in places like this," she answered. Erik's eyebrows arched in surprise. It was not the response he had anticipated. He snorted lightly.

"God…He is a fickle artist…fancying beauty and refinement in one moment and hideousness the next," he spat vehemently. Anna regarded him with great sadness and pity. Erik bristled; he hated pity.

"Don't look at me that way! As though you would a stray dog!" he snarled. Anna sighed heavily and moved closer to him. Reaching up, she removed his mask. Erik inhaled sharply as the chilly breeze hit his hallow cheeks. The cool air bathed his face gently, lovingly.

Her soft voice came to him in a firm whisper, "Erik, I do not pretend to have answers, nor can I begin to understand why it is that you have the face that you do, but I know that just because you cannot see His progress, it does not mean that He is not attending to His work."

Her sincerity and eloquence baffled his mind. Struggling to cover his emotions he replied with a sneer and said, "_That's _a sure bet is it?"

"I'd stake my life on it." It was a clichéd response, but one glance into her brown eyes and he knew that she had meant it with all seriousness. The sheer strength of her conviction shook him to his very core. He stared at her for a moment, her eyes burning into him. At length, he had to tear his gaze from her. Sighing again, she placed the mask in his hands and moved on up the stream.

"Oh!" she cried suddenly.

"What is it?" he growled irritably.

"There's a raspberry patch across the stream!" She yanked off her little leather boots and her stockings. Pulling her blue skirts up about her knees, she waded into the pool, squealing at the water's icy caress. Erik watched with trepidation.

"Anna, be careful!"

And then, because the Authoress felt that some comic relief was due, an especially slimy slab of stone found its way into Anna's path and she kerplopped bum first with a spectacular splash. Shrieking with fury and indignation, sliding all over the place, she tried to stand again, fish flinging themselves out from the folds of her dress. Erik rushed to her side, heedless of the water sinking into his shoes and crawling up his pant legs.

"Are you all right?" He grasped her shoulders and hauled her to the opposite shore, setting her down beside the raspberry brambles. Dripping all over, her hair in damp tangles, she looked like a half-drowned cat. Erik was not very successful in his efforts to hide his amusement.

Anna huffed and bellowed, "You think this is funny?"

He snorted into his hand then pulled as serious a face as he could muster. "No, not at all." She glowered at him from beneath her dripping bangs. Turning to the berry-laden vines, she began to harvest the plumpest of summer raspberries. Erik caught the shiver that ran through her. He took off his coat and draped it about her shoulders before sitting down beside her.

"Thanks. Here, have some berries." They munched on the cool, tangy fruit for a while, inevitable little blotches of red juice appearing on her blouse and his shirt.

"Anna, have you ever been in love?" Erik asked suddenly, turning to his companion, studying her with his deep blue eyes. She gave him a startled look and he coughed as though he had not really meant to voice the question aloud. She thought about her answer for a moment.

"I've had a couple of boyfriends over the years, but I've never been in love."

"These _boyfriends _you speak off, they were your suitors, yes?"

"Yeah."

"But you didn't love them?" He almost looked scandalized.

"Courtship changed a lot between 1870 and 2005, Erik."

"How so?"

"Well, it got stupider."

"That doesn't answer the question," Erik said dryly. Anna frowned. _How do you explain 21st century dating rituals to a 19th century gentleman?_

"M'kay, first a guy and girl like each other, find each other attractive one way or another. Eventually, they sense this mutual attraction via hormones or gossip or both. They flirt, giving each other hugs and always eating lunch together. At some point one of them asks the other 'out' on a date or something like that. The next step is to become 'official.' From this point, the relationship escalates into something very mushy—lots of making out, lots of feeling up, lots of whatever. It can end in various ways: a) Someone winds up pregnant; b) Someone cheats with someone else; or c) Someone gives the "It's-not-you-it's-me" line and the couple parts ways only to hook-up with their ex's best friend two weeks later."

Erik blinked. "That hardly made any sense, but all in all, it sounds extremely vulgar and unsatisfying."

Anna shrugged. "It's no big deal. It is unrefined. Looking back, it's laughable really."

"Did you have a suitor at the time you and your cousin were transported here?"

"No, at that point I hadn't been on a date in nearly two years. A lot of people would consider this a bad thing, but I rather liked it."

"What sort of social events would you attend with your suitors?"

"Dances were the biggest thing. But slow dancing—that's where you put your arms around your partner and shuffle in a circle to a bubble-gum pop love ballad—is nothing to ballroom dancing. Waltzing is romantic."

Erik's eyebrows shot up. Anna's cheeks flushed until they matched the raspberries in her palm. Erik recalled the masquerade, that dizzying dance with the Raven, her brown eyes glittering beneath the black, feathered mask, her body leaning into his arms as though his touch thrilled her. An idea that would have greatly pleased the redheaded girl began to dawn in Erik's mind, but in her effort to change the subject she proved to be her own undoing.

"Really, Erik, you probably know more about being in love than me," Anna said hastily. She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.

"Christine," Erik murmured softly and that dawning idea was effectively squashed. "Love burns and scorches. I almost hate it. I've tried to avoid all hope of Christine ever returning my love, but I can't help hoping a little. Just a little, because I want it so badly."

Anna said nothing. Suddenly, Erik felt heartily ashamed of himself for dragging her out here, away from her cousin and their new beau. He didn't know what had motivated him to be so possessive, but he supposed it was simply because he begrudged Gerry some share of the girls' company. He had behaved very foolishly.

"Come, we must return. Your cousin and that imposter will be missing us." His voice was stern and cold as he rose to his feet. Anna ignored the gloved handed extended to her, pushing herself to her feet, shoving his coat into his arms, and marching off toward the inn without another word.

On her way back through the forest, Anna took a slight detour. She sabotaged the Authoress and took over the phic…


	24. A Little Perspective

Men are stupid! They're all jerks! Erik included!...I feel the need to use more exclamation points. !

"Hey, um, you need to start with a disclaimer, you know!" The pitiful voice squeaks behind me. I whirl to glare at the shivering figure tied with rubber snakes and lying on the bed.

"What do you mean by a 'disclaimer?'" I snarl.

"That's where you remind anyone who cares that you do not own _The Phantom of the Opera," _the Authoress replies.

I ponder this for a moment.

"Bugger the disclaimer!" I say and now to continue my ranting—

"But what about the review replies?" she cries. This is getting on my nerves.

"_BUGGER THE REVIEW REPLIES! YOU MADE ME MISERABLE AND NOW I AM GOING TO VENT!" _

She is subdued. Good. Now, where was I? Oh, yes…

Men are jerks, Erik included. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. First, he takes me away from Gerry and Brooke. Then we have this near connection in the woods and he ruins it by bringing up Christine.

I don't understand his fascination with her. Sure she sings like and angel, but that's only because he taught her to. It's not even as if she was much of a challenge. She could already sing well…teaching _me _to sing; now _that _would be a challenge.

Humph. She not very pretty, but we've established that, haven't we? Too bad, I'm gonna _re_establish it. Christine has the biggest eyeballs I've ever seen. It's like _The Little Mermaid, _except no heaving chest. She's flat as a billboard. I'm not saying that I'm a perfect Aphrodite in comparison, but she's nothing like what I expected.

Maybe it's unfair of me to assume that Erik would only 'go after' a raving beauty. It's stereotypical really, to match the perfect Beast with the perfect Beauty, as though Erik isn't human with preferences of his own. I guess he prefers her.

But she's not even a nice person! How can he love that little bi—

"PG! WE'RE ONLY RATED PG, PLEASE!"

Got it!

How can he love her so much? She hates him. She's a vicious little vixen. His face scares her. It doesn't scare me…at all. I think…I think…

"Hark! Do I hear a confession coming on? Pray, continue. Or shall I continue it for you?"

I turn to fix my prisoner with an amused stare, "You can't make me do anything, dear Authoress. You are my captive."

She gives me a suitably creepy smirk, "Au contraire, Anna, I may be bound hand and foot by rubber snakes, but I am still in your mind."

"How could that be?"

"Do I need to spell it out? I am still the Authoress and you are still the character. I'll always be there speaking thoughts in your head."

I gulp. I am now officially creeped out.

Misty continues, "Now, do we get that confession or not?"

I nod and turn back to the keyboard.

I think Erik is handsome.

"That's it? I could have told you that."

No, no…I like Erik. I've had a crush on him for a long time. I almost told him back there in the woods. It was strange traipsing through the woods with Erik. I enjoyed it, probably more than he'll ever know.

But I guess it's nothing but a phangirl infatuation. Same with Gerry. That's what worries me. I don't want to love Erik the way I obsess over Gerry. It's not what Erik deserves. He deserves more.

Does this make any sense?

"Not really."

Why am I making such a big deal out of this?

"Good question."

Erik loves Christine! I'm just a sister to him. It's his fault for dancing with me and making my heart flutter all weird like that. It's his fault for dragging me out here where everything is just peachy perfect for a romantic romp. It's his fault for asking me about love, making my heart jump in my throat. It's HIS fault for thinking of Christine when he's sitting with ME!

"May I remind you that _you _are the one who jogged Erik's memory of Christine?"

"Shut up! Wait…how did you—_EEK—"_

XXXXXXXXXX

Authoress emerges from a cloud of lint, daintily brushing fuzz puffs from purple robe. Yes, I have regained control of my phic, though I must acknowledge that many brave and comfortable socks gave their lives in the effort to restore my reign. I ask a moment of silence in their honor…Thank you.

Now, to business previously neglected.

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO. But I am now the proud owner of the original POTO of 1925 on DVD all thanks to **Lady Brandybuck of the Shire. **I LUV YA, MERRY! That movie is so cool! Lon Chaney makes a great Erik. So many of his gestures make me think of our beloved Phantom. He probably looks more like Erik than any of the others. But the end is totally not Erik. I won't give it away, but let's just say that any of us could tell them it was very OOC of O.G. to behave thus. And the music they added to the film…I think our Phantom would have been on an instant punjabbing expedition if he ever heard it.

WooHoo! Over 300 reviews! You guys are awesome…I think I have the best readership in all the Phandom.

**MoonDancerCat: **I am glad that you identify with Anna. I've tried to make her unique, giver her quirks and such so that she seems more real. I take it by your review that I have thus far succeeded.

**Solecito: **I know! We just got _Finding Neverland_ but I haven't seen the _Dear Frankie _previews yet. Are they good?

**Tian Sirki: **You and your reviews are just awesome! I don't know when or where I'll introduce more POTO characters or more of my own. I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm making this up as I go.

**xxXGoddessxofxdeadxloveXxx: **I believe it comes out during the first few days of May…at least that was a rumor I heard.

**Songwind: **I wish I could waltz…I think it would be very romantic.

**Pleading Eyes: **I'm so glad…wait…Humphrey Bogart is on my T.V. screen and he is looking soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo HOT! OMG! He's to die for!...Sorry, where was I? Oh, yes! I am so pleased that you do not find the fluff pointless. I dislike pointless fluff, so thank you.

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **Have I told how cool your name is? No? Well, it's cool. No need to worry about me. I've got everything under—

"Brooke, may I help you? You don't look very happy."

"I. AM. PISSED! I've never been so _humiliated _in all my life!"

"Well, there's no need to scream about it."

"I _AM _going to scream! I am going to vent…_RIGHT NOW!" _


	25. More Perspective and a Lightsaber

_Men are jerks!_

"I believe that point has been well established."

I whirl to glare daggers at the Authoress, my prisoner.

"Silence!" I thunder. She squeaks. I take that as a good sign.

Like I said, men are jerks. Raoul and I talked about horses for a long time in the garden. He really opened up and I was enjoying his company. Then he invited me to continue our conversation over a cup of tea in the common room. I was thinking, _Woohoo, score!_

We were two steps from the front door of the inn, arm in arm, when who should pop out of a returning carriage? Yes—the bug-eyed monster. If looks could kill, I know my head would have rolled off of my shoulders in a second. (Of course, if looks could kill, Christine would have bitten the dust a loooooooong time ago.) Anywho.

Christine and her posse stood in one corner, Raoul and I in the other. It was like the showdown at the O.K. Corral. Christine's face puffed up and her body swelled like a toad's. You could have seen the wall of tears glistening in her enormous eyes from a mile away. She's practiced this.

And what did the sweet, gentlemanly Vicomte de Changy do? He _SHOVED _me away—oh, yeah, like _that's _gonna make it look any better—and shuffled up to her royal toadiness, spluttering:

"Christine, I'm so glad you're back. Did you have a pleasant afternoon?"

I swear his nose couldn't have been any browner than if I had rubbed it in the mud and manure, like I wanted to. He reached out a hand to her. That must have been the signal because she chose that moment to burst into snotty tears and run into the garden. Naturally, he followed, leaving me to the prying eyes of, like, oh, half a million people!

"Little Lotte, please, it is not what you think!" he cried.

Gag me.

He's a jerk.

"You've said that."

I turn on the Authoress, towering over her and hissing in her face. She squirms.

"You! Yoooooou!" I spit. "This is all _your _fault!"

"_My _fault? How is it my fault?"

"Because _you _are the Authoress. Why can't you just give Anna and me the guys we want? No pain, no drama."

She snorts, "Where's the fun in that?"

"You're despicable."

"Such is life, still we love it. Now, may I _please _have my phic back?"

I ponder this request for a moment.

"No. Oh, lookie here. You have reviews for Chapter 24!"

"Hey, those are _my _reviews!"

I laugh as she struggles against the rubber snakes tied around her hands and feet.

"Let's see…oh, here's a good one! It seems that _you _forgot to leave a note for Phantress. What kind of 'most beloved, favouritist EVER' Authoress are you?" I say tauntingly.

"_WAH! _I didn't mean to forget. I'm sorry!"

"You scum."

"It was two in the morning. I didn't know what I was doing! Phantress, forgiv—_MMF!"_

I snigger to myself as I stuff a chocolate chip muffin into her mouth. Brushing crumbs from my blouse, I turn my attention back to the computer. Scanning the extensive list of reviews, I spy a particularly cool username: OneWhoWalksWithPigeons.

"Let's try this one. 'Oh, dear. I believe you are going to need this. tosses light saber in general direction of Misty Breyer'…Wait a minute." I realize my mistake, but it is too late. The familiar _BWRRR _of a lightsaber hums sinisterly behind me. Ever so slowly I turn around. There stands Misty, rubber snakes in pieces about her feet, purple robe billowing, and brandishing a magnificent violet Jedi weapon. A momentary pang of jealousy is quickly usurped by fear as I note that she has assembled an army of deadly looking socks. I gulp.

"The circle is now complete," she purrs menacingly. With a yelp of panic, I dodge the lasersword and the socks and tear out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

I have regained control it seems, but now one of my own fictional characters is loose in the house. I rally the socks to my side.

"_CHARGE!"_

We are hot on Brooke's heels. She scampers through the kitchen, pausing momentarily to bombard us with Cheerios. The effect is devastating for there is nothing more fatal to a sock than a well-aimed Cheerio. Many of my faithful, fuzzy slipper socks are mortally wounded.

Shrieking angrily, I slash my way through the shower of cereal with my lightsaber. Brooke bolts into the family room. I chase her in circles around the couch, cackling madly and swiping the lightsaber. I am most definitely in touch with the Dark Side. At last, she makes a break for the bedroom, the best of the socks biting her feet.

We have her cornered. A cornered fictional character is a very dangerous thing. Brooke is 'living' proof of that. She stands on my sister's bed; her back pressed against the Orlando Bloom shrine pasted on the wall. With her brown hair standing on end and her old-fashioned clothes, she looks not unlike the Bride of Frankenstein. Clutched in her white-knuckled grasp is my brand-new 1925 POTO DVD.

"NO!" I gasp in horror.

"Oh, yes. _MWHAHAHA!" _she giggles maniacally. "Drop the lightsaber or the DVD dies."

I hesitate.

"But Lady Brandybuck of the Shire gave it to me!"

"Like I care."

I've got to buy some time. Reluctantly, I toss the lightsaber aside. She grins and tosses me the DVD. All too easy.

"_FLY MY PRETTIES! FLY!" _I scream and the socks hit the fan. Literally. There are socks flying everywhere. A few of the more colorful ones stupidly miss their target and get tangled in the tendrils of Poppet, my ivy plant. The rest of them successfully dive-bomb Brooke until she is reduced to a hysterical mass of lint.

Jumping to the computer, I exercise my powers as Authoress and type: _Brooke vanished and reappeared in her proper place within my phic._

_POOF! _The lint blob is gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Finally, orderly chaos is restored, though I have taken the precaution of installing a sock patrol to guard against any future mutinies.

For any one who cares: I do not own POTO.

**BohemianCane04: **Welcome aboard! I hope you shall review more often.

**MiserableRevolutionary: **(Erik: Have you seen my Punjab Lasso? Misty: No! I haven't seen it. I don't know who has it. What makes you think I know?)

**Aurora: **I think Brooke's mutiny was little more violent, wouldn't you say?

**Typewritter 15: **Thank you! Anna and Brooke are both twenty years old. I know they act like five-year-olds but hey, don't we all?

**Phantress: **My dear globe-hoping reviewer, please forgive me! I would love to be your beta. It's about time you wrote something. My e-mail address is posted on my profile. I never use AIM so that's kind of pointless. I really look forward to it and I consider it an honor to be asked.

**SimplyElymas: **Glad to have you back!

**Son Ange: **Here's what you asked for!

**Solecito: **Fluff and angst all in due time, but I've got some violent chaos to get out of my system first. I watched the _Dear Frankie _preview. O.M.G! Gerry is delicious! His eyes are gorgeous! (drool) Woohoo! A Bogie fan. _Casablanca _is my all time favorite. And thank you for the encouragement.

**ShaShiSar221: **'ello my friend. About the frantic updating…I have very boring professors, so I write the chapters in a notebook in class so I'm able to update more often.

**xxXGoddessxofxdeadxloveXxx: **YAH! That's like less than a month away. I am so buying it the day it hits the shelves.

**Pleading Eyes: **OMG! That would be hysterical if Raoul took over your phic. He wouldn't be that hard to defeat though, just threaten him with talking jars and an empty hair gel bottle. Hey, when do we find out what's up with Erik's new foppish brother?

**kristinekat13: **Hey, you did some pretty good guessing there. I don't want Anna to confess too soon, one, b/c I'm old-fashioned and I think it's the guy's job to confess first; two, b/c I don't want Erik to love her simply b/c she accepts him, if you know what I mean.

**Secret: **I shall take your reply as a great compliment. Thank you.

**LiTTleLoTTe1991: **Oh, I've got a much better antidote for Anna _and _Brooke than socks (though socks are good for that), even better than chocolate ice cream.

**Silent Masquerade: **I'm amazed at how surprised—albeit pleasantly—people are about these chapters. I wanted to give some insight into Anna and Brooke's feelings and frustrations, but I wanted to do it humorously b/c the last few chapters have been on the serious side.

**Nota Lone: (**Erik: Don't worry, she's not coming anywhere near it.)

**Master Darth Warious: **Do you own a Darth Maul? My cousin would envy you.

**MoonDancerCat: **Actually, I have recently encountered someone who made a complicated mess of things by telling someone that they liked them. It was a very stupid move, but I think Anna is more afraid of embarrassment.

**Baby-Vixen: **I have noticed that a lot of reviewers review whilst on a sugar high. Cabbage? Red or green? They both taste good.

**easternelvenlady: **What is your speech for? I had to write a paper on POTO the play once…it was fun though I think I was little too passionate in my description of the Phantom.

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **You are a little skunk.

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **Thank you for saving my butt. (hugs lightsaber and accidentally ignites it) EEK! (Luke: Off button, darling. Misty: Thank you, me love).


	26. Better Than Chocolate Ice Cream

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO

**A/N: **(Sock Army: The socks go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah…) Ah, the glory of absolute control. Okay, I know this update took longer than usual. I need to let y'all know that updates are gonna really slow down until May 5. I know I've threatened you like this before, but I really mean it this time. If I don't get a hold of myself and focus on schoolwork, more than the socks will hit the fan.

Also, there's some new characters mentioned briefly in here that will become very important later on. The girl named Cecily is based on Lady Brandybuck of the Shire. This is only b/c I know her personally and b/c she got me the 1925 POTO on DVD.

**LiTTleLoTTe1991: **Yes, Erik…or another version of him (hint, hint). I once read than squirrels are plotting world domination and therefore, must be wiped off the face of the earth. (eyes cute, bushy-tailed disease transporter w/ suspicion).

**Sabrin: **I wonder what kind of Jedi Erik would make. (Yoda slaps Misty upside head) Ouch…I'm glad you enjoyed the insanity.

**Juliana: **I have close affinity w/ Montana, but I shan't say more than that.

**Solecito: **I have stripedy toe socks! More Gerry involvement is coming, I assure you.

**Son Ange: **Glad you enjoyed.

**kristinekat13: **Actually, Christine is upset b/c she wants to use the love Erik and Raoul have for her to attain her material goals (fame and riches).

**SimplyElymas: **Do you're friends imitate that spin that Luke Skywalker does when they lightsaber fight?

**Songwind: **(Sock patrol salutes reviewer)

**xxXGoddessxofxdeadxloveXxx: **I'm making a beeline for Wal-Mart when it comes out cuz they don't charge as much. Did you know that Wal-Mart trucks are good luck?

**IndiaPyro: **As some very brilliant once wrote "Behold the power of fiction." (Misty bows to Random-Battlecry)

**Tian Sirki: **I understand perfectly.

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **The Ballpoint Pen of Doom? I like that.

**Willow Rose: **Yes, I know…actually I was soooooo nervous that nobody would like or even get my sense of humor, but what do you know?

**Joeela Alinn: **I hope so, too. ; - )

**TheGreatSporkWielder: **You have a cool username, too!

**Master Darth Warious: **Sounds like you two have an interesting relationship. Luke Skywalker is married to one of my alteregos. (Squee!)

**Phantress: **She found the DVD at a place in our town called DVD Planet. Tis a very cool place. Oh, good, I am forgiven then…I felt sooo bad about that.

**Ridel: **I know, I think I need to let Anna and Brooke vent on those two for a while.

**Erik for President: **Sorry for neglecting you. Hmmm, I don't think a cameo will be possible at the time. Like I said at the top of the page, Lady Brandybuck of the Shire gets her own character for a few practical reasons. But I gladly accept the use of the Official Buffalo Bills linebacker socks. (Places socks at the front line of defense…Misty: You are to bid all stand in my name! Buffalo Bill Sock #1: How if they will not stand? Misty: Then take no note of them, but let them go.)

**Baby-Vixen: **EEEEW! Fuzzy cabbage?

**Typewritter 15: **Don't die! Here it is.

**Erik's Girlfriend: **Thank you! I'll pass the compliment along to Anna some time. I appreciate your encouragement.

**LostS: **Me, too. (slumps in chair w/ relief)

**MoonDancerCat: **People are weird, I'll give you that.

**Pleading Eyes: **Sorry if I have fallen from your updating idol pedestal. Life is what it is. Please don't stop waving the Misty flag. (beams proudly) But… EEK! I don't want Raoul's brain! (gasp) I know what happened to it…have you ever seen _Young Frankenstein _when Igor picks up the brain belonging to Abby Normal? _That's _where the little fop's brain went!

**easternelvenlady: **Sounds like fun! Any excuse to talk about POTO.

**Phantom of the SteelWolf: **Welcome aboard and thank you for your enthusiasm!

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **Happy now?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM

Anna was still picking sock lint from her person when she stormed into the courtyard of the Seaside Inn. Lost in the frustrated musings of her mind, the redhead collided head on with her own cousin. Stepping back, Anna observed a very linty Brooke.

"Did you rebel, too?" Anna growled.

"Yes…men are jerks," replied the other with contempt, swiping at the fluff clinging to her clothes.

"What happened?"

Brooke related to Anna the entire incident involving Raoul and Christine. At the end of the tirade, Anna comforted her best friend by calling the Vicomte a jerk and a fop, as well as few other choice names of a more colorful nature.

"Where are they now?" she asked.

"Still in the garden. I think he's down on his knees begging for forgiveness. When that doesn't work, he may resort to licking her shoes." The brunette made a gagging noise. "Where is Erik?"

"He's somewhere back there," Anna said jerking her head in the direction of the forest. Peering, Brooke could see the lithe black form striding through the fields.

"What happened between you two?" she asked. Anna explained.

"Humph…jerk."

"No kidding."

Erik could not for the life of him understand Anna's rude behavior. It enraged him quite frankly. It might have been presumptuous of him to take her away from her companions, but that was not sufficient reason in his mind for her to leave in such a dreadful huff. He could see the impertinent girl and her cousin in the courtyard, watching him approach. _Why were they covered in fluffs of lint? _His fury increased, though he hardly knew why. (Something infuriating about lint I suppose). His boiling temper was checked, however, before he reached the courtyard.

The Angel of Music's Christine-sensitive ears perceived the soprano's not-so-dainty sobs racking through the calm atmosphere around the garden. Halting his lengthy stride, Erik paused to listen, his masked head tilted to the side. Yes, it was Christine. _What on earth could be making his angel cry? _Forgetting his anger at Anna, he stole into the garden, stealthy as a shadow, silent as a grave.

"Did you see that?" Anna hissed. Her tone was livid, but a hint of rising hysterics quivered beneath her anger. "Off to find his precious Christine."

"I don't care if he punjabs Raoul on the spot," Brooke spat irritably. All at once they became uncomfortably aware that they were drawing the stares of quite a number of curious, young vacationers.

"I think…I need some chocolate ice cream," Brooke whispered. Their fury subsiding, the girls felt themselves teetering precariously between self-control and all-out feminine hysteria. Sniffling quietly, tears welling in their eyes, they ducked their heads and hurried inside the inn and up to their rooms.

A tall, slender girl with raven black hair remarked to her party, "It seems that they have had some bad luck with their suitors."

Annette, who was amongst those addressed, replied, "I can't imagine it being so in Anna's case. That gentleman with the mask who disappeared into the garden is their brother. Perhaps they had a row. But the Vicomte undoubtedly behaved very badly towards Mlle. Brooke."

"They ought to find ample comfort in that handsome beau of theirs," the black-haired girl said. The ladies giggled knowingly and the gentlemen with them smirked into their hands.

The black-haired girl continued, "I cannot hold Mlle. Anna in contempt for her behavior. I know what it is to be frustrated by one's siblings." She shot a cold glance up at two young men standing behind her.

"Surely brothers as amiable as yours, Cecily, could not give you much trouble," another girl teased lightly, smiling shyly at the two young men.

Cecily arched her fine brows, "Dominic and Jacques are forever underfoot. _My _foot to be precise."

"Yes, Dom and I are in constant need of supervision, eh, Dom?" Jacques guffawed in a low, slow voice. His twin brother chuckled. Cecily rolled her brown eyes.

"The Leroux family is a most curious bunch," Madam de Pouf announced from her bench in the shade of the pink eaves. She was obviously impatient to discuss the fascinating behavior of the phamily.

"M. Leroux hardly ever comes out and not once has he joined us for dinner in the common room," Annette said. "Though he is evidently devoted to his sisters. You should have seen him shower them with presents their first day here."

"That M. Gerard is almost as much of a recluse as M. Leroux," Dominic remarked as though this was breaking news to everyone assembled there.

"That _is _a pity," one girl said sadly. The majority of the female participants nodded in agreement, whispering to each other of M. Gerard's fine figure and burning eyes.

Ever the observant one, Cecily said, "Then there are those masks." The chattering group fell silent. They eyed her suspiciously though they all knew that she had merely had the guts to voice what they were all secretly contemplating.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Gerry was jarred from his nap by a few slamming doors and decidedly girlish sobs. Rolling over on to his stomach, he raised his tousled head to peer at the window. The fading red light bleeding through the lace curtains told him that night—his favorite hours—was fast approaching. The sobbing cut into his mind again. Growling like a panther, he rose from bed and went to see what was the matter.

Gerry found Anna and Brooke crying their eyes out on their bed, both girls still spotted with sock lint.

"What happened?" he asked. The girls jumped up at the sound of his voice, hurriedly wiping away their tears in embarrassment. When at last they turned to face their beau, their moods were considerably lightened.

Gerry's tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway. His black hair was a mess, still damp from his bath and mused from his nap. His white shirt was opened to his waist and to their ultimate delight he was wearing the Don Juan pants. The cousins began to feel better.

"Still waiting for an answer," the Phantom said testily. Anna shook herself out of her phangirl daydreams.

"Erik and Raoul are being jerks, that's all. Both of them ditched us for Christine. Falling all over her and being generally stupid," she snuffled.

Gerry groaned irritably. Leave it to those two _morons _to ruin everything. "Where are they now?"

"Probably still in the garden," Brooke answered him. "That is if Erik hasn't punjabbed that rotten little fop yet."

Gerry strode determinedly over to the bedroom window that faced the branches of the conveniently placed oak tree. Poking his head out into the cool evening air, Gerry whistled a little tune that sounded as though if were meant to be a secret call.

Anna cocked her head to one side and frowned as she tried to figure out where she had heard that tune before. Suddenly, it came to her. "Hey! That's the theme from _Jeopardy!_"

"How does Gerry know what_ Jeopardy!_ is?" Brooke asked.

Meanwhile, Gerry was listening intently for an answer to his call. He got it when an impish face topped with straw like hair popped up, directly in front of his face. Gerry jerked back, hissing like a snake.

"Ye called?" Pip chirped, biting into a crisp apple.

"Yes," Gerry said through gritted teeth. "I want you to go and find out what is happening in the garden at the moment."

"Weel, as a matter a fact, I jus' cum frum there," Pip replied, spraying Gerry with flecks of apple.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what is happening down there?"

"Oh, weel, it's a bit nasty, ye might say. The nobleman, one Miss Brooke's got 'er hart set on, is all but grovelin' in front o'that Miss Daaé, beggin' 'er forgiveness."

"What d'ye mean 'all but grovelin',' Pip? The man has no dignity left to 'is fam'ly name," called a sleepy voice from a few branches down. Gerry bent his sharp gaze down and saw the other half of the hobbity duo resting in the crook of a broad tree limb, hat pulled over his eyes in preparation for a nap. After heaving a roll of disgust, the Phantom's eyes returned to Pip's face.

"Ay, tis true. Poor man," Pip said shaking his head solemnly. Somewhere behind Gerry, Brooke snorted derisively.

"You were saying?" Gerry snarled impatiently. Pip continued after tossing the apple core to the ground and noisily cleaning his sticky fingers with his tongue. The roguish stable hand had no idea how close to being punjabbed he had come.

"Weel, then there's Mr. L—"

"Who is Mr. L?"

"Mr. Leroux. Anyways, he's creepin' about the shadows watching the two o'thems 'aving their row. Judgin' by 'is eyes, I'd say 'e was pretty livid."

"Is that all?"

"Think so. Is tha' all, Que?"

"Mm?"

"I said, is tha' all?"

"Yes, tis all."

Pip turned to repeat the answer to Gerry, but found that the Opera Ghost had withdrawn his head and shut the window. Shrugging to himself, the groom swung down the branches, as easily as a spider monkey, to wake his friend.

Gerry turned to regard the girls.

Brooke looked thoroughly peeved. "I don't know about you, bestest best friend, but I feel like vomiting."

"That makes two of us," Anna replied. Gerry took them seriously and sought to divert them from doing so, thus they settled down to an intense game of _Star Wars _monopoly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik returned to the apartment an hour later. Stalking into the sitting room, he found his roommates hunched over the coffee table contemplating their various monopoly strategies. Suffice to say Gerry was winning. The girls took no note of Erik's entrance. This rather miffed him.

"I hear," he began, finally drawing their stern gazes to him, "that the little Vicomte is accused of being unfaithful to Christine."

There was a brief millisecond of silence before all hell broke loose. Brooke shot out of her chair, sending the game board flying. Little Courescant apartments and property cards and Republic credits soared in every direction. She stared at Erik with the most intense, tearful gaze she could muster. It was scary enough to send Gerry and Anna scooting backwards.

"_ARE YOU ACCUSING ME OF BEING A **HOME-WRECKER?**" _she cried shrilly.

"I did not say that, Brooke."

"_YES, YOU DID!"_

"All I said was—"

"_YOU THINK I'M A TRAMP…AND A GOLD-DIGGER, TOO, I BET!" _

"Stop talking in capitalized italics!"

"_I'LL TALK HOWEVER I WANT!" _With that, Brooke burst into tears and ran into her bedroom. Erik stood rooted to the floor in shock. What was it with these crazy women?

Gerry growled at his counterpart, "Wonderful, just wonderful. I get them calmed down and then _you _have to come along an accuse a sweet, little lady like Brooke of being a home-wrecker."

Erik whirled on the Imposter, "That is _not _what I said!"

"You have no tact with women, my friend. None whatsoever."

"And you do?"

"Naturally," Gerry finished with an elegant bow before going to find Brooke. Erik seethed and fumed. Out of the corner of his glittering blue eyes, he saw something move. Spinning about on his heel, he came face-to-face with Anna. The redhead, who had been trying to steal into her bedroom unnoticed, froze in her tracks when Erik's icy voice hit her ears.

"Anna, a word, my dear."

She turned to stare at him defiantly. "What?"

"Why did you run off like that? It was extraordinarily rude of you."

"It was extraordinarily rude of _you _to bring up Christine during _our_ conversation!" she retorted. He started at her words, but the full implications of them did not make it past his thick, knobby skull.

"Of all people, I should think a _phan_girl like you would understand my devotion to Christine."

Those words shot straight into Anna's heart, the shaft of the verbal arrow burrowing deep into her breast. She didn't bother hiding her tears as she fled from the room. Erik dismissed it with a flick of his wrist and stormed into his own room.

To her own chagrin, Anna discovered than snuggling against Gerry's warm, solid chest as he hummed in her ear was an infinitely better picker-upper than chocolate ice cream. _Erik's right, _she thought to herself as she listened to the steady heartbeat beneath her head. _I'm nothing more than a silly phan, infatuated with the object of my fanaticism. I don't deserve his affection. _A single tear slid down her cheek.

On the other side of the Scottish Phantom, Brooke was having similar mental conversations with herself. _Perhaps there's nothing that can change the outcome of the story. Erik will end up alone and Raoul will get Christine. Who will get Gerry? What will happen to Anna and me? Just go back home and feel miserable I suppose. _

Gerry was lost in his thoughts, too. _This is not getting any easier as I had hoped. Evidently, that little soprano has a stronger hold over Erik and the fop than we suspected. Heaven only knows why. I don't know how we'll manage this when my time is up. I suppose I shall have to double my efforts and hope for the best. There is a bonfire on the beach tonight, perhaps that could serve some useful purposes._

Gerry shifted his shoulders, nudging the dozing girls from their dreams.

"My dears, do you intend to make an appearance at the bonfire tonight?"

Brooke looked at Anna. Gerry suspected that they communicated telepathically. He suspected correctly.

"I don't feel like going out and watching Raoul and Christine fawned over each other," the brunette said.

Anna stretched her arms and yawned. "I feel some violent urges coming on actually."

"That's nothing new," said Brooke.

"Yeah, but they're unusually strong tonight. Is it a special occasion or something?"

Gerry answered her, "It is the fourth of July. Is there anything special about that?"

The girls lit up, evil smirks playing across their features. Brooke began sniggering maniacally first. Anna joined her as their madness escalated further and further.

"_MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! _Summon the Poppins Bag, we've a special request, in honor of the holiday!" They leapt from the sofa and bounded across the room.

Gerry sensed that this did not bode well.


	27. Prelude to More Madness

PRELUDE TO MORE MADNESS

By the end of this paragraph you will have realized that this paragraph _is _the entire update and you will howl at the false advertisement of the title, but if I put AUTHOR'S NOTE some of you might not read it and then you would miss out on a **cameo** **opportunity**. That said, I have had several requests for cameos and it breaks my heart to say that this is a no can do situation. If I give in to everyone I'll be swamped. However, because I really like making you guys smile and squee, I am _giving you one last chance. _If you want a cameo in the next chapter you **must **answer **all **of the following questions:

(Misty quickly disguises herself as the bridge keeper from _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_)

Vat is your favorite color? (Brooke: Remember the specifics!)

If you were to rename yourself in honor of destruction, chaos, and all out insanity, what would your name be? (Anna: In other words, give yourself the kind of name you'd find on a pirate ship or a WWII bomber)

Okay, if you answer **both **questions with **creativity **I will give you a cameo in the next chapter. _This is the point of no return! _After this there will be NO MORE CAMEOS! So take the opportunity **now! **

(Misty finishes her rant and slumps down next to Savvy who says, "Nice way to buy time." Misty replies, "I thought so, too.")


	28. THINGS GO BOOM!

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO…

**Mademoiselle Phantom: **Oh, Anna and Brooke are Americans. I think I mentioned them being of Scottish descent in one chapter, but they were "born" in the United States.

**Pleading Eyes: **You are so cool that I am going to give you a cameo anyway. You shall be _Ballpoint Pen of Doom, _since OneWhoWalksWithPigeons was awesome enough to let me borrow it. And your color shall be hair ribbon pink. in honor of your phantastic phic.

All right—here it is: the last of the cameos. Thank you to everyone for the creativity of you answers. Wow, you guys really took the details seriously, which is good, that way I can differentiate between every particular shade of midnight blue. This is probably one of the weirdest cameos you will ever make (I'm sure some of you have figured out what I am going to do to you.) I have taken some artistic license; if you listed more than one color I chose the one that best suited my purposes (same w/ names) and if your name was too long, I shortened it a tad.

I think there was some misconception about the cameos. I mean to give _everyone _who answered the questions a cameo, not just one person (**Savvy: **I even tricked _you! _That has to be a first. _smirks w/ pride_). Anywho. I really had fun with this chapter (a little _too _much fun, hehe) and I hope you will enjoy it. I have to admit that I am worried this will be too confusing and that you won't like it, but I am willing to take my chances.

Sorry, about the lack of review replies. It's 1:00 a.m. and I am tired.

WARNING: Utter random chaos erupts somewhere in the middle. Be prepared!

XXXXXXXXXX

THINGS GO **_BOOM!_**

When Anna and Brooke bounced into their closet, they had been lint-covered Victorian ladies (unconventional, yes, but whatever), when they reemerged half an hour later, they were transformed back into 21st century college women in jeans, hoodies, and worn out chucks, ready to pull the ultimate prank. Gerry noted with a quizzical stare the phrase _One if by land, two if by sea _imprintedacross the front of the hoodies.

Their hair, which had grown out past their mid sections, was French braided and weaved with red, white, and blue ribbons. Black kohl lined their eyes and sparkling pink lipstick painted their lips. Spicy clouds of Curve perfume surrounded their persons. They were sultry at the same time they were playful. Brooke had the Poppins Bag slung over one shoulder.

_Be afraid, _it whispered to Gerry, _Be very afraid. _

Taking this cryptic warning to heart, Gerry gulped as he slowly inched his way toward the door. Too late. The girls spied his slight, Phantomly movement and, without warning, pounced him. Anna sat on his legs while Brooke pinned his upper half to the floor. The brunette leered at him, leaning down to ask:

"Gerry, you like us more than Christine. Right?"

Gerry nodded wordlessly.

"Then you're not going to stop us are you?"

Gerry shook his head frantically.

"Good." After smothering him with a few kisses (just for good measure), the cousins released him. Staggering to his (big) feet, the Phantom smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt and Don Juan pants. Once he reassembled his composure, he turned to address the girls.

"What, exactly, is your plan of action?"

Brooke stood on tiptoe to whisper the answer into the Opera Ghost's left ear. He smirked in approval (it was an unbearably sexy smirk).

"Very good. And do I have a part to play?" he asked. Anna whispered into his other ear. He smirked sexily again.

"I think I can managed that. You two are endearingly wicked. You'd make excellent Opera Ghosts."

The girls grinned as they replied in unison, "We do."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Madam de Pouf could not have planned better weather herself. The briny smell of the sea seeped through the balmy summer air. There was a comfortable chill in the breeze that made the sky shiver in delight as he settled his navy blue body down beside the warm curve of the earth. A sliver of ruby red sunlight on the western horizon was all that remained of the day, melting onto the hills and staining the water. Selene and her glittering attendants rose from the east to frolic in the heavens whilst Helios was asleep.

Every summer the plump, good-humored landlady hosted a wild party on the seashore. Madam de Pouf, being young at heart, was the maestro who conducted a fantastic symphony of scandal, imprudence, and broken taboos. Her annual bonfire was _the _event of the summer for the restless youth of aristocratic Parisian society and the dreaded terror of their parents.

At sunset, all of the elements were in place. Bonfires roared; wine flowed from bottles and flasks; wool blankets sank beneath the weight of picnic baskets; and local musicians launched into playful diddies that tickled the ears and the hearts of the merry-makers. The landlady and her tipsy husband observed the unruliness with amused eyes.

Annette and Max chased each other round a smoldering fire. Cecily managed to escape her brothers and mischievously kicked up water with her friends, drawing shrill shrieks from anyone who came too close. Hillarie and Lizette cheerfully employed themselves at flirting with some young noblemen, who had arrived for the weekend. Others joined in dancing a reel.

Peering into the darkness beyond the firelight, Madam de Pouf surmised that Christine was nearing success in her efforts to seduce the Vicomte de Changy. The old gossip had heard delicious rumors that Mlle. Daaé was a rising star at the Opera Populaire and was supposedly connected with some very mysterious happenings there. Second to the family Leroux, she was the most intriguing tenant of the summer.

Speaking of the Leroux, Madam de Pouf noted with disappointment that Mlles. Anna and Brooke had not yet appeared with M. Gerard. (She hardly expected M. Leroux to show up). Her musings were cut short when her husband drunkenly jostled her with his shoulder.

"Tis a fine evening, eh, Isabelle?" he rumbled like a bear with a pot full of honey.

"Yes, it is," she replied, " I am glad I had the good judgment to hold the party early this year. Did you set up someone to light the Roman candles, _mon cher?_"

"Yeeeesh…I got a few of the boys up there on the ridge. Should be in a few (hic!) minutes," he slurred.

Satisfied with his answer, Isabelle de Pouf took a swig of the bottle herself and settled back to watch the revelry, silently congratulating herself on her decision to host the party on the fourth of July, rather than a week later. Little did she know she had two very patriotic Yankees on her hands.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

High upon the grassy ridge overlooking the beach, the patriotic Yankees had quickly established a base of operations. The ridge itself was the front line; HQ was nestled with the heavily armed birch grove behind them. With the help of the Authoress and a couple of hobbity stable hands, Anna and Brooke wired the grove with some of their traditional favorites. Saturn missiles nailed to trees, raptor eggs planted like landmines, and flying saucers lying undercover of fallen leaves were all set and ready to detonate when their intended victim (guess who) tripped the wires.

However, the extent of the cousins' pyrotechnical weaponry reached far beyond road stand staples to a limit that would have turned the Weasley twins Slytherin-green with envy. In addition to the Montanan variety, the girls had procured—via the Poppins Bag—a familiar cartload of Gandalf's fireworks, which were to be saved for the finale and were now being guarded by Pip and Que at HQ. The Authoress herself had invented a bizarre new breed of firecrackers especially for the occasion. These were crammed into the aching, over-worked mouth of the miserable Poppins Bag, which was stationed beside the girls at the front line.

Anna kept tabs on the activities below through a pair of binoculars. They waited with bated breath for the right moment to strike. Everything had to be perfect. This was to be their magnum opus, their masterpiece, their tour de force. To put it in POTO terms, they were going to drop the chandelier tonight. The muffled whimperings of the Bag broke through the electric silence.

_Ay ate mwff._

"What?" Brooke snapped.

_AY ATE MWFF!_

She shifted the load of fireworks to one side and asked the Bag to repeat itself once more.

_I HATE MY LIFE! MMF!_

Brooke let the fireworks tumble back into place. "Is that all? Don't be so Marvinish," she snorted as she rummaged through a small, wooden crate containing the de Pouf's twelve Roman candles. (The girls had taken the precaution of sabotaging M. de Pouf's appointed pyrotechnical engineers and stealing their meager supply of explosives.) Anna's eyes remained glued to the binoculars.

"When should we start?" she asked.

"Depends. How is Gerry getting on with Christine?"

"Difficult to say. It's a very dark down where they are, but I don't think the fo—I mean the Vicomte is leaving her alone. Gerry needs a distraction."

"Gerry _is _a distraction."

"Very true. All the same, I think we should set some of these off." Anna turned to point at the Authoress' fireworks.

"But…won't these distract Christine as well?"

A parchment airplane zipped into view, with the answer carefully printed inside. Brooke unfolded it and read:

_Rule #42 in the POTO handbook: A Christine will always latch on to the sound of an Erik's voice to exclusion of all else. The trick is to get her away from any interfering Raouls._

Brooke blinked. "All righty, then. Shall we?" She gestured to the fireworks with a gallant sweep of her arms. Anna frowned thoughtfully. No doubt those drunken vacationers would be in the line of fire eventually.

"Give 'em fair warning. Fire off those Roman candles first."

"Aye, aye, Admiral Boom!"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Gerry cursed under his breath. That stupid fop hadn't moved since Christine had lured him beyond the last bonfire and into the quiet solitude of the darkened seashore. They lounged on the sand, wriggling their bare toes in it, and talking quietly.

The invisible Phantom smirked to himself as the soprano leaned into the Vicomte, whispering in his ear and tracing his hand with one dainty, white finger. To Gerry's surprise and ultimate satisfaction, Raoul refused her bait. Either the young aristocrat was intent upon upholding his virtue or he had another petite brunette on his mind. Perhaps it was both, but Gerry hoped it was more the latter.

Christine was getting frustrated. She withdrew her body and sat pouting for a while, saying things like "You never pay attention to me!" and "Why are you so distant?" Raoul begged her forgiveness, even groveled at her feet, but he still didn't completely succumb to her. At last, Christine took a page from Erik's book and began to sing softly into Raoul's ear, finally captivating his full attention.

Gerry seethed with rage. His innate nature as a Phantom dictated that he be furious whenever a Christine sang for someone other than a Phantom. He knew that the "real" Erik would have been screaming his head off by now, but Gerry had a more delicate task at hand and so he contented himself with twisting a slimy vine of seaweed into a Punjab lasso.

Groaning and swearing, Gerry kicked at the sand beneath his feet. The fop would never move whilst Christine sang. Glancing up at the ridge, he silently prayed that the girls would do something soon or the whole evening would be wasted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Madam de Pouf shifted her bulky weight impatiently from foot to foot. _What on earth was delaying those firecrackers? _She was anxious to impress her guests. Just as the lady determined to investigate the matter, the first glittering flower exploded overhead in a brilliant burst of red. It illuminated the sky and elicited _oo's _and _ah's _from the crowd on the beach. Satisfied with this reaction, Madam de Pouf sat back to enjoy the eleven remaining Roman candles. Her smug smile began to sag into perplexity when the explosion count reached thirteen and still did not stop. Not only that, but the fireworks were becoming increasingly bizarre.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

(A/N: Okay, here go the cameos. In case you haven't figured it out, _you _are the fireworks! And very rambunctious fireworks at that. The Weasley twins would be proud. Enjoy the show!)

Anna carefully selected a group of firecrackers with impressive names and promising pictures on their shells. With a loud whoop, she sent up the first volley of the Authoress' custom-made rockets.

_Admiral Mad Kat the Salty Eye _exploded first, producing a shimmering purple blossom, with little orange polka dots erupting from the tips of her tendrils. Like a normal firework, the purple blossom faded away, leaving behind nothing save a smoky shadow of her form, however, her orange spots remained. Not only did they remain, they took to skipping themselves across the sky like pebbles on water.

This was the innocent audience's first clue that something was amiss. Or at least, it _should _have been their first clue. As they had each downed one bottle of wine _minimum, _it would take a little while for everything to register properly. In the meantime, they were actually enjoying the bizarre display.

_ExplosivesEly _flew into the sky, her shattered shell belching out a dozen fluttering shapes, as black as the velvet sky woven betwixt the stars. The faint shimmer of fire soon exposed the shapes to be large bats. They snapped and crackled as they swooped through the sky, silhouetting against the moon for an eerie moment.

_Itty Bitty Killer Kitty Phanatical Phan_'s brigade of black, sparkling cats leapt into the air, yowling and clawing at the moon. They pranced and skulked in and out of the stars and when they turned just right, their fiery fur glistened like silver.

_ShinyThingsRuleSupreme _exploded next. The onyx flames, licked with iridescent emerald and sapphire, quickly molded themselves into a thousand black beetles. They scittered to and fro over the sky, playing chase with _Admiral Mad Kat's _orange dots. Their creepy bugness gave the cousins the heebie-jeebies.

"OMOG! Anna, it's those little scarab thingys from _The Mummy!" _Brooke shrieked. They shivered in horror as the bugs joined in the pyrotechnical fray.

The bats and the cats and the bugs did not fade, but they blended so well with the night sky that the drunken vacationers on the beach were not seriously alarmed. Instead, they remained amused.

"Look, there it is!"

"Did you see it? No, no, it's over there!"

"You're drunk!"

"So are you."

_Flying Sorceress of the Misty Isles _twisted and spiraled like a bullet before exploding into a glittering deep blue pin wheel, which then began to cart wheel around her fellow fireworks. People swore they heard a soft maniacal giggling emitting from the strange blue starburst.

They began to worry.

All at once, they heard a sound like thick cloth being ripped apart. Turning in circles, checking under baskets, the vacationers spent a good minute or so searching for the source of the sound, when at last they thought to look at the sky a hair-raising spectacle met their bewildered eyes.

A particularly morbid firework called _Sister Killer of Doom _had erupted in the sky, popping and dripping like a newly opened wound, complete with blood red coloring. Each one of her bone-chilling splats oozed so convincingly that several of the foppier tenants passed out while their sweethearts screamed shrilly.

M. de Pouf shouted, as coherently as possible, for everyone to be and clam and begin to slowly make their way up the path to the inn and safety.

"No use upsetting the little devils," he yelled over the crowd.

"What about them?" someone called back. The shivering group turned to regard the various fops and dandies sprawled at their ladies' dainty feet.

"The fire creatures might require a sacrifice before they are appeased," Cecily volunteered as she prodded one of her unconscious brothers with her toe. Everyone thought this was a reasonable idea.

Struggling to keep hold of their panicking minds, the vacationers scooted along the winding path. Sadly, _Shadow Crawler _had beaten them to it.

If Gandalf could have bottled up a ring wraith and sent it rocketing into the air, the result would have been _Shadow Crawler. _The sinister black firecracker was more like a puff of smoke than anything else, She hissed and swirled and crept softly over the ground to block the vacationer's only hope for escape. As if her mere presence wasn't enough to push the vacationers off the last precipice of sanity to which they barely clung, she gave loud, angry screech.

The unholy scream sent the vacationers tumbling back down the hill in all-out hysteria, like decapitated chickens. This frantic activity had the same effect as the thrashing of a wounded fish in shark territory—it caught the predators' attention.

_Flying Sorceress _rallied her fellow specters together and organized a blitzkrieg.

Brooke regarded these antics with unabashed amusement. "I think they've got good personality!"

"Crap!"

Brooke turned to her cousin, who was peering through the binoculars. "What is it?"

"Raoul still hasn't left Christine. We've got to get him out of there if this is ever going to work. Any suggestions?"

The rambunctious brunette flashed her cousin a mischievous grin and held up a beautifully decorated firework, with a horse painted on its side. "How about this?"

"Brilliant. Hi, ho, silver!"

"Uhem," Brooke cleared her throat and lifted a disdainful brow at Anna. "I believe the proper phrase is _EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _

With that, _Mustang's Revenge _rocketed toward the unsuspecting couple.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Gerry was seriously considering some desperate measures. Christine was moving in fast. The Phantom fancied that the eager glee in her eyes and the wanton parting of her lips gave her the appearance of a vampress, preparing to open her victim's jugular.

A quick series of explosions ripped through the air, cutting the soprano off in mid crescendo. The childhood sweethearts leapt apart and gaped at the crazy firework figures darting across the night sky.

Gerry's elation over the blessed interruption was short-lived. No sooner had the lovers recovered from their initial shock, then Christine threw herself into the Vicomte's arms, seeking shelter.

"Damn it!" Gerry hissed. He glared at the cuddling lovebirds, then in an effort to restrain his urge to vomit, turned his beautiful Scottish eyes to the heavens. The inventive fireworks duly impressed the Opera Ghost, smirking at Misty's handiwork. He especially enjoyed the sinister color palette. Still…if immortal black fireworks shaped like bugs or cats or whatever did nothing to separate those stupid, puppy-eyed children huddling on the beach, then they were of no use to him.

Closing his eyes, the Phantom breathed a silent prayer for help to come soon. The next explosion delivered his answer.

A sizzling streak of royal blue whizzed overhead, making a beeline for the soprano and her puppet. _Mustang's Revenge _somersaulted over the terrified Christine and Raoul and erupted on the stretch of sand between them and the sea. The sulfur haze cleared and there stood a magnificent royal blue stallion, its fiery mane and tail billowing around it like the aura of a Patronus.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Gerry smirked, Christine blinked, Raoul whimpered, and _Mustang _glittered.

Then, _Mustang _charged…at Raoul.

"_EEEEEEEK! SAAAAAAAAAAVE MEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee!" _the Vicomte squealed as he bolted down the beach. _Mustang _whinnied with maniacal glee as she joined in a delightful game of cat-and-mouse.

Christine stood on the sand, completely abandoned. She didn't know whether to be angry or scared. A valuable opportunity for seduction had been destroyed and Christine was getting fed up with uber-bizarre occurrences fouling up her plans. Thus, she felt like throwing a hissy fit. At the same time…to her left, a horse-shaped fireball was chasing Raoul, and to her right, their friends were being mercilessly bombed by living pyrotechnics. It was extremely scary, especially when Christine realized who was behind the outrageous display. In that case, she felt like curling in a fetal position and mewing like a lost kitten.

As the singer pondered her next course of action, she slowly became aware of soft violin music floating out from the darkness behind her. Her spine tingled with ecstasy as a man's sensual voice rose with the song.

_Wandering child,_

_So lost, so helpless,_

_Yearning for my guidance…_

Christine's bulging bug-eyes glazed over and her abnormally large mouth fell open in an expression of…vacancy.

In the shadow of the ridge, Gerry pulled a sour face. _What had he been thinking when he fell in love with her? _Shrugging it away, the Angel of Music leaned into his violin and concentrated on luring his prey up the ridge and into the woods.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, upon the crest of said ridge, Brooke set off a group of fireworks, which had struck her as rather piratey. She settled back to drink in the mayhem.

_Captain Amelia of the Dark Aardvarks, One Eyed Limey, _and _Twitchy Eye _leapt into the air and exploded valiantly in a blaze of color. _Captain Amelia _took the shape of an aardvark (what else?) the same shade of blue that follows sunset and wearing what appeared to be a Captain Crunch hat.

_One Eyed Limey _formed herself into a forest green eyeball and _Twitchy Eye _took shape as a sunny yellow starburst, which seemed to have a bad case of muscle spasms (don't know how, but hey, does any of this make sense?).

_Flying Sorceress _thought a group of sea-faring scalawags would make a splendid addition to her little army. Swooping like a great ghost, the deep blue sparkler approached the new comers.

"Hey, would like to be in the army of specters? We're dive-bombing the little people right now, but there'll be tea and crumpets afterwards," she offered.

_Captain Amelia _and her crew stared at _Flying Sorceress _for a moment before answering her with a song:

_We are the pirates who don't do anything!_

_We just stay home and lie around_

_And if you ask us to do anything,_

_We'll just tell you…_

_Twitchy Eye _jumped forward to deliver the last line: _We don't do anything!_

_Flying Sorceress _blinked at them as best she could, for unlike _One Eyed Limey, _she didn't possess even one eyeball.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"FINALLY!" Anna crowed as she tracked the progress on the darker side of the beach.

"Did it work?"

"_Mustang's _got Raoul on the run. That ought to keep him busy for while. Gerry's making good head way with Christine. We'd better hurry up and finish the rest of these fireworks if we plan on getting out of here by the time he's led her up the ridge."

"Righto, already got the next batch lined up," Brooke quipped. She bounced excitedly as she set a flame to the wicks. Anna regarded her with a quizzical stare.

"Aren't the least bit worried about Raoul? I mean—not that _I _care—but he is being chased by a giant firework right now."

Brooke shrugged. "He had it coming." She smiled wolfishly as she added, "I'll make it up to him later."

Anna had no desire to contemplate the innuendo. Instead she concentrated on the fireworks.

_Master of Chaotic-dark Sithly Darksabers _had transformed into a double-bladed lightsaber, deep purple in color, like an African violet, though not nearly as innocent. She had challenged _Shi, _a twilight hued streamer, to a duel. _Shi _had solemnly accepted and the two were engaged in an intense battle.

Floating nearby, the lone spectator at this epic struggle was an interesting being. _Vernichtungs Wahnsinn _had all the appearance of a huge sea urchin, her emerald green spikes glittering with streaks of silver. A few of _Admiral Mad Kat's _orange dots buzzed by to view the duel. Something about them pissed off the German sea urchin fireball. _Vernichtungs _attacked, snarling and hissing like a Pomeranian with a chest cold. The orange dots found this very entertaining.

So did the cousins.

"Who do you think will win?" Brooke asked. She was willing to bet on the orange dots. As for _Sithly Dark _and _Shi, _it looked like a tie.

"Don't know. What is with all of these dark colors?" Anna grumbled. She took over as pyrotechnics engineer, rummaging through the miserable Poppins Bag until she had assembled a satisfying group of fireworks.

Giggling madly, she sent them on their way. The resulting blast of color was so intense that all other activity ceased momentarily.

_Celeste, _neon orange and green, _Psychadelic, _aqua, _Daeguruth, _glacier blue, and _Sockeo Majorio, _sunrise purple took the sky by storm.

"Hehe, they look like an enormous tie-dye shirt," Anna observed. She smirked with smug pride at her work. The "hippie" group, as she lovingly called them, had taken her words to heart. Joining bright, flaming tendrils, _Celeste, Psychadelic, Daeguruth, _and _Sockeo Majorio _spun in a circle of whirling glitter, singing loudly:

_This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius,_

_Age of Aquarius, Age of Aquarius!_

"I like singing fireworks," Brooke said.

All at once, the girls were pelted by a shower of discontinued aqua M&M's. A quiet whisper hissed over their heads: "Skittles. Taste the rainbow." The dynamic duo looked up to see _Kendall the Incredible Ruthless Killer Ninja Pirate _floating past, the same color as the candy she produced.

"Um, excuse me?" Anna called. _Kendall _turned around.

"Yes," the firework replied politely.

"I don't me to criticize, but I believe you've got the wrong candy." The redhead held up a handful of M&M's to demonstrate her point. _Kendall _considered this astounding revelation for a moment.

"Yes, I see you are right. M&M's. Taste the aqua. How does that sound?"

"Much better." _Kendall _seemed pleased and floated on her way. _Flying Sorceress _quickly recruited the candy-spouting flame puff when she discovered that the candy bullets were especially disagreeable to the poor vacationers.

Ah, yes, the poor vacationers. They were having a bad time of it. Though most of the fireworks abstained from attacking them directly, the sight of the strange shapes and electric colors did nothing to help the humans' constitutions. And there was something particularly maddening about a sunset blue aardvark in a Captain Crunch hat. Now they were being shot down by discontinued aqua M&M's. Life _really _sucked donkeys.

Meanwhile, _Mustang _had succeeded in cornering Raoul in a shallow tide pool infested with sea slugs and hermit crabs. Of course, it could have been the result of the ocean spray, but the Vicomte's pants looked suspiciously damp. And in other news, Gerry had nearly coaxed Christine to the foot of the ridge. There had been a minor set back due to the screamingly bright hippie fireworks, but being a Phantom, Gerry had made a soon recovery and Christine was still under his spell (as are we all).

M'kay, back to the chaos and firework cameos.

The next group disgorged from the Poppins Bag promised to be especially violent. The cousins like that idea.

A series of cheerfully colored rockets bounded into the sky, cackling and giggly madly. There was _Bringer of Bedlam, _of a frightening mauve shade, _Immortal Death, _a shocking electric blue, _Leet Master O' Doom, _an alarming violet, _rabidflyingmonkeyofDOOM, _of a disturbingly peaceful sunlight-through-leaves green, _Queen of Rumbles and Grumbles, _a surprisingly similar color to Christine's cotton candy masquerade gown, and _Grand High Empress of Random Annoyance and Destruction, _who was simply pink.

Together the group formed a troop mercenary type renegades, who hired themselves out to _Flying Sorceress, _on the provisions that there be double portions of tea and crumpets reserved for them and that no questions be asked. If the vacationers thought they had seen all the madness the world of Erik-imitating phangirls had to offer, they were dreadfully, horribly, terrifyingly wrong.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik emerged from his room.

"Anna?" he called, tentatively scanning the sitting room. One could never be too cautious when it came to the cousins. His brows furrowed in concern when he didn't receive a reply. He glanced once at the game of _Star Wars _monopoly, abandoned on the table, and crept to the girls' bedroom door.

"Anna? Brooke?" Erik threw his soft voice into the room. Still no answer, not even the sound of movement.

"Gerry?" he hissed through gritted teeth. Nada. At last, Erik pried the door open. The room was completely empty. They had gone out without so much as a "Good bye" or a "We'll see you when we get back." Erik was about to dismiss it with a forlorn heave of his shoulders when he noticed something seriously amiss.

The Poppins Bag was gone.

At that precise moment, as Erik stood gaping at the empty closet floor, an ecstatic _Ophelia Isabella, Great Royal Wife of Dracula _shrieked past the window in all her sinister, crimson glory, banshee wail trailing behind her like an auditory comet's tail.

Erik didn't even blink.

With slow, deliberate movements, he approached the window, pulled back the curtain, and opened the pane. His drop-dead gorgeous blue eyes widen in shock at the site before him. All hell had apparently broken loose in the skies over the beach. Wretched screams of fright from the cornered vacationers and the crackling laughter of the fireworks filled the air with a spectacular cacophony.

"Oh, sweet heavens above."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Somehow the scrimmage between _Vernichtungs _and _Admiral Mad Kat's _orange dots had escalated in to an all out war between nearly all of the fireworks. The pirates had been motivated into action and even the army of specters had ceased tormenting the vacationers to join in the fray. The hippies cried for peace and were promptly attacked by the mercenaries. The sky was on fire. Only _Mustang _stayed on course.

The haggard crowd on the beach thought their chance of escape had come, but the next volley of firecrackers were not about to let them get off that easily. As if sensing Erik's approach, _Masquerade, Discombobulated Diva, _and _Danica of the Devilishly Determined Divas, _all went to work preparing a worthy tribute to their favorite Opera Ghost.

_Masquerade, _an Italian blue cloud of sparkles, swept through the crowd, curling her sulfuric form about each person in turn, leaving them all bedecked in spectacular masquerade costumes. _Danica, _a velvety rose red blossom, danced across the sky, spreading rose petals wherever she went. _Discombobulated Diva _tried a few warm up choruses of "Masquerade", but being discombobulated, she sang abysmally and eventually, _Masquerade _stationed the golden yellow willow at the entrance to the path. In this way, not only did _Discombobulated Diva _cut off the vacationers—or rather, masqueraders' only escape route, but she also made a beautiful curtain with her threadlike limbs of glittering gold.

The phantomastic display succeeded in luring Erik away from the ridge and away from Gerry and Christine, who had at last begun the ascent up the hill. While the real Phantom was distracted by the shining homage to his legend, Brooke and Anna were amusing themselves with a troupe of extremely comical rockets.

The rollicking gang was led by the bottle green _Mad, Merry Wielder of the Magic Flyswatter. _The Authoress shall leave her clever readers to imagine the purpose of a firework shaped like a flyswatter. Let's just say, that _Mad Merry _had the other fireworks skittering like bugs.

Apparently the color green had suddenly become all the rage. Following _Mad Merry, _there was light green _Lady Nameless, _bright green _Sputnik, _who immediately took to orbiting the immediate area, simply green _Duddits,_ _Hutspawn, _who wasn't really green, rather turquoise with a strong hint of green, and Kelly green _Mandy._

"Oh my goodness, Anna, check out these next two!" Brooke held up the rockets in question and the redhead burst into a fit of giggles. These were gonna be good ones.

Out of the first rocket sprouted a blue, shimmering shadow of the swashbuckling Spainard, _Ingo Montoya. _The fiery apparition did not join in the firework war, or in the frolicking of his own troupe. Instead, he glided down to the beach, which now resembled the leftovers of the ALW movie set, and approached the first human in his path.

"I do not mean to pry, but do you happen to have six fingers on your right hand?"

"Do you always begin conversations this way?" Erik replied.

"My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man." Soft, sad flute music, from an unidentifiable source, wafted across the seashore. Erik held up his right hand in response to the Spaniard's question. _Ingo _nodded and let him pass.

The second of the much-anticipated rockets was a beautiful tribute to the Weasley twins of Hogwarts fame. _Ballpoint Pen of Doom _took to the air like an eagle quill, scrawling nasty words across the sky in hair ribbon pink. Most of the words were directed at a certain dim-witted soprano and are unsuitable for a phic of this rating.

Anna was still in stitches when the last of the large groups was released into the air. It was a finale worthy of such a bizarre show. _Vixen, _an amethyst firework in the shape of a fox, slinked her way across the beach, sniffing out any and all unopened bottles of alcoholic beverages. The combination of the nitrate based fireball and the alcohol sent fuchsia flames spurting up between the masqueraders' legs like geysers. Mayhem exploded on the beach, shattering the carefully constructed Phantom shrine.

_Salty Siren _was not only immortal, but also waterproof. The sparkler detonated just above the grey water. She took on a woman's voluptuous figure, a glittering silhouette of flamingo pink, with purple highlights in her hair. Every man on shore began to fight his way through the icy sea to reach her.

Meanwhile, the spectacular azure explosion that was _Fantasy Frenzy _had somehow distracted _Mustang _from her fop hunting. The royal blue steed reared and tossed her mane and went galloping off to join _Fantasy Frenzy _in chasing the orange dots.

"Blast and botheration!" Anna swore as she watched _Mustang _abandon her duties, leaving Raoul to interfere with Gerry's delicate façade. Brooke had seen it, too.

"Crud. Better wrap this up and get back to our posts. Let's see. _Adrienne. _What kind of destructive name is that?"

"Don't complain! Just ignite it and pray it does something useful!"

_Adrienne's _wick sizzled and fizzed. The girls waited anxiously. Nothing.

"It's a dud!" As soon as the words left Brooke's mouth, the plain black shell began to shudder and quake like a hatching egg. A hairline crack opened and a cloud of electrical storm grey smoke seeped out. _Adrienne _slithered her way down the beach, passing over each dog-tired, scared-out-their-wits, definitely-need-a-stiff-drink vacationer, so that they all fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Wow," Brooke whispered. "That was cool. Okay two left. _Bloody Jack _and _Crimson Specter. _Where shall we send—_HEY!" _

Anna roughly pounced on the last of the Authoress' fireworks. She hastily shoved them into the ground and lit the fuses. The rockets sped straight for the Vicomte de Changy, who was just a shout away from breaking Gerry's spell over Christine. The fireworks did their work well, _Bloody Jack's _orange fireball walloping Raoul's stomach and _Crimson Specter's _Caribbean blue (o0) pinwheel flipping him on his back like a turtle.

Brooke had little time to cry out in dismay. Only one more round of "Wandering Child" remained betwixt the crest of the ridge and Gerry and Christine. Snatching up the Poppins Bag, the girls dashed into their bobby-trapped forest, carefully following the only safe path. They ran hard, stopping only when they were well concealed amongst the shadows of the trees. Anna brought the binoculars to her eyes.

Brooke pressed her for a report in between ragged breathing.

"Gerry just slipped away. Christine is following him into the forest…oh, no."

"_What?" _Brooke grabbed the binoculars. Peering through them, she saw the bed-draggled form of her precious Vicomte stumble over the south tip of the ridge. She also saw the lithe, panther like shadow that swept over the northern tip. Both of them were following the soprano into the trap.


	29. S'more

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

Hey, I am soooooo happy that y'all liked the last chapter. I sincerely apologize if any of you were left out. I really tried to remember to get everyone in there, I even had a list, but I guess it was inevitable.

**Phantress: **Brooke's "exasperated slap" is just for you!

**Savvy: **HA!

Sorry, about the lack of review replies. It is late. Also, if there is more than the usual number of typos it is for the same reason.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

S'MORE

_That voice which calls to me and speaks my name…_

Christine followed unquestioning, completely willing. She could not see the source of the voice; it seemed to hover in the air before her, bodiless and ethereal. It was not the same as _her_ Erik's, this voice was a low, raspy; it didn't glide over her skin like silk, instead it ran up and down her spine, like a precocious lover's caress. Yet it _was _like Erik's voice, powerful, seductive, and elusive.

The voice beckoned her into the forest and she followed blindly, through the cool shadows, the delicate fingers of the leaves reaching out to tickle her cheeks. All at once the voice stopped and the trance was shattered. Christine froze. Bug-eyes scanned the surroundings. The shadows were foreboding now and the whispers of the wind in the trees bespoke of almost certain terrors.

"Hello?" she called, her perfect voice cracking under the strain of mounting fear. She took a tentative step forward. "Is anyone there? Voice? _WHERE ARE YOU?" _

_Was that an answer she heard? _

Well, I highly doubt it was the answer she was looking for, but it made me happy. With that tiny little tentative step forward, Christine detonated a tree trunk full of Saturn missiles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik snaked his way up the ridge, careful to avoid being seen. Christine wondered not too far ahead. She moved with the graceful rhythm of one who has been hypnotized. Tipping his head to one side like a giant bird of prey, Erik listened. The faint strains of a man's singing voice reached his ears. Erik knew, from the quiet control lying beneath its sensual tone, the voice was meant for Christine's ears alone.

Erik seethed. It could not be Raoul. The boy did have to tempt Christine with a magic song, he had only to smile and she would be his captive. Besides, Raoul could not sing. At least Erik assumed the Vicomte could not sing. In this case he was right.

That left only one alternative: Gerry. That fool, that _imposter! _He came here at the bidding of the cousins and he had given every indication of being completely devoted to them. Yet the imposter was seducing Erik's beloved angel. Wasn't it enough he had usurped Erik's place with the cousins?

The original Opera Ghost stalked into the woods. He was aware of the Vicomte's presence at the southern edge of the woods, but Erik did not have time to bother with that stupid boy. Bent on straggling Gerry with the Punjab lasso, Erik did not waver in his track until the voice suddenly stopped and the woods filled with a deadly silence. Erik was immediately set on edge. The singer's desperate pleas for the voice, wracked through his body in wave after wave of jealousy, though he knew she called out because of terror, not desire.

He could just see her through the boughs of the birches. _What did the imposter mean by luring her up here only to abandon her? _It was a cruel trick to play, but Erik sensed that there was more to it than that. Christine bestirred herself, like a wounded mouse, and Erik heard the telltale _snap _of a breaking wire.

Suddenly, the shrieking whistles of a hundred tiny missiles sounded from every direction. Little white darts blazed through the air, burning through foliage like fairies of sunlight. Christine screamed and bolted, a horrible mistake.

"_Merde!" _Erik hissed as he ducked and darted, trying desperately to avoid the miniscule rockets. Up ahead of him Christine dissolved into utter panic. The more she ran, the more white missiles shot into the air. Every few feet another tree lit up with ignited fireworks as though Christmas had come six months early. Erik frantically struggled to reach his angel before the whole forest exploded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Raoul felt absolutely certain that the day could not get any worse. He staggered through the trees, stumbling like a winded elk, in an effort to find Little Lotte, his body sore, wet, and spent. All at once, the world seemed on fire. The trunks of the trees glowed hotly as they disgorged army after army of demon fireflies. In truth, Raoul would have much rather run and buried himself under a bush, but Christine's screams spurred him on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cousins howled and cursed in dismay as they watched their beloved Phantom caught in the crossfire of the Saturn missiles. Their first instinct to dart into the open and push him away from the ricocheting rockets was quickly stopped by a pair of strong arms. Viciously, they kicked and struggled against their captor.

"Let go!"

"Cease this foolishness! What good will you do him by acting rashly? _THINK STRATIGICALLY!" _Gerry's command had its desired effect. The girls sagged in his arms. Anna's head lolled around, bringing her tearful brown-eyes up to Gerry's stern countenance.

"What should we do?" she whispered. Normally, Gerry would have required them to acquire the answer on their own, but now was not the time for lessons in critical thinking.

He swiftly replied, "Go and diffuse the other fireworks before they are ignited."

"What about Christine?" Brooke asked.

"I'll take care of her. Brooke, you see to the Vicomte. Anna, look out for Erik. Have you got that?" He pinned them with a teacher's gaze. They nodded and he saw the courage and spunk returning to their eyes. "Good. Go!"

He shoved them forward before disappearing into the shadows in a swirl of black velvet. Brooke and Anna worked quickly to disarm as many fireworks as they could, nimbly darting through the trees, deftly clipping wires, all while trying to avoid the zigzagging Saturn missiles. Anna peered through the thick foliage to see the POTO trio struggling against the ever-increasing tide of pyrotechnics.

"Hey, Brooke, don't those three remind you of that part in Episode IV when Luke, Han, and Leia are trapped in the cell bay of the Death Star?"

Brooke pondered her cousin's observation for a second before replying, "Leave it to _you _to have a _Star Wars _geek moment in the middle of a firework fiasco."

Anna shrugged her shoulders with air of indifference. "In the blood I guess. Besides, I _know _you were thinking the same thing."

Brooke tried to hide a telltale grin of accession behind a look of dignified horror. "What makes you so sure?"

"Twisted minds think alike."

_**BAM!**_

Unfortunately or fortunately—depending on your point of view—the stumbling Vicomte chose that moment to detonate a nest of raptor eggs, thus effectively cutting of the cousins' fascinating conversation. Writing from personal experience, a couple of raptor eggs is much more interesting when firing into the _ground, _rather than into the sky. The result is a wonderfully violent fountain of orange and green fireballs.

Needless to say, the unexpected increase in turbulence threw Raoul into frantic, shrieking hysterics. He ran in useless circles, pausing every once in a while to dance that distinctly feminine OMG-there's-a-bug-on-the-floor jig.

Anna fell to the ground, clutching her sides as she laughed uncontrollably. Brooke stood frozen in shock. From the untouched shadows, Gerry swore under his breath. Raoul's clumsiness had distracted the cousins, leaving Christine wide open for Erik to gallantly rescue. In _this _phic that is _not _a good thing.

Luckily, Raoul corrected the situation. As may be expected, running around like a chicken with its head cut off in a dark, dense, booby-trapped forest is not the brightest idea. However, young de Changy had long since lost all capacity for rational thinking. In his panic, Raoul unleashed a squad of UFO's. The little fireworks spun into the air and, as if by instinct, took off after the screaming Vicomte. Again, writing from experience, having those fiery flying saucers buzz after you is an unnerving event, so I can't blame poor Raoul for high-tailing it to the stream.

This singular instance set off a chain of events that proved to be beneficial to all the right people.

Brooke snapped out of her paralyzed shock and ran after Raoul. Anna remained giggling on the forest floor. Even Erik could not contain his glee at seeing the Vicomte sprinting through the woods with a band of angry-looking rockets on his heels. The Phantom momentarily lost control of his senses and began laughing. This had two very important effects. One, it distracted him from Christine. The instant his sunken blue eyes left the soprano a gloved hand shot out of the shadows, snatched the collar of her gown, and dragged her into the darkness. (Que freaky _Psycho _shower scene music).

Two, Erik's beautiful laughter (because everything he does is beautiful) alerted the cavorting cameo fireworks of his presence. Being that they were spawned from crazy phangirls, the pyrotechnics immediately zeroed in on the elegant black figure below. Forgetting that they were no longer rabid phanatics, they plummeted straight at the Phantom, intent upon glomping their favorite fictional maestro. Curiously enough, the sound of falling firecrackers sounded suspiciously similar to _SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!_

Anna's brown eyes snapped up, widening with horror as the gleaming, glittering mass of sulfur and nitrate sped towards her beloved angel. Forsaking all concern for her personal safety, she leapt to her feet and raced to Erik's rescue. Erik himself was acutely aware of the incoming fireball.

It rocketed closer and closer. No matter where he ran, it still burned over him. The heat and the light seared his senses. The roar of the crackling flames shook the trees and nearly deafened the poor Phantom. As it bore down on him Erik buckled, sinking to his knees, and burying his head beneath his arms.

Anna's legs pumped harder and faster. She crashed through nets of branches and snares of thorns, heedless of the brambles tearing her clothes and skin. Her heart pounded against her aching ribs and the blood roared in her ears as she thought she might not make it in time. With one last burst of strength, the little redhead flung herself at Erik's huddled form, just as the forest erupted into flames.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Raoul rushed for the promising gurgle of running water. The devilish firecrackers whirled like mini buzz saws, spinning ever closer to his head. Squealing in dismay, the Vicomte ran harder and dove for the river.

Brooke was not far behind him. As she vaulted over the last bush, she stumbled into a moonlit clearing, through which a babbling, tinkling stream flowed (yes, 'tis the very same stream Erik and Anna found on their walk).

She was just in time to witness the frazzled Vicomte resurface. His deathly white face glowed like a specter's in the moonlight. His eyes darted around the area, evidently in search of any incoming fireworks, but there were none to be seen. Brooke surmised that the UFO's had met their untimely end in the stream's icy waters. Hovering in the shadows, she watched in agony as Raoul dragged his wet, shaking body onto the riverbanks and collapsed into a shivering heap. The brunette noted with a roguish grin that his white dress shirt was soaked through, clinging to his well-formed body like the thin membrane of a cocoon.

Suddenly he heaved and shook under a barrage of hoarse coughs. Brooke's heart thudded. She wanted to go to him, but if he saw her like this, dressed like a university coed on her way to Starbucks, it would mean trouble for more than just her. Still, she couldn't leave him like that…all at once, an idea struck her brain, taking a page from Erik's book, she pulled her sweatshirt hood over her head and glided out on to the sand.

Raoul started and squeaked when he saw the blurry form of a woman bending over him. Was it Christine? No, Christine didn't smell line forest and spice…and she certainly didn't wear men's trousers. He frowned and scooted away from the stranger.

"Who are you?" he rasped, his throat raw from screaming.

Brooke chuckled, "Why M. le Vicomte, don't you remember me? _L'esprit?"_

Raoul's bright blue eyes widened in stunned recognition of the mysterious masquerader who had kissed him on the catwalks of the Paris Opera House. He often thought of that strange apparition and her odd companions: Red Death, of course, who was Christine's phantom, and the Raven, who had stayed Death's hand. The Spirit he recalled most vividly, her shapely figure, the sparkling emerald eyes, and soft, warm mouth. Raoul blushed at the thought…but this person looked nothing like that ethereal ghost. He glared at the woman standing near him.

"You don't look like her."

"Tsk, tsk, Vicomte, surely you know that we specters can change appearances as suits our needs," she purred in reply. He blinked. That made sense. Besides, there was something familiar about her voice, if only he could place it.

The Spirit continued, "You look like you have seen some trouble. Perhaps I can help you."

"How so?"

"I could use my magic. Conjure up a warm shirt, for instance, and maybe…a little _company." _

Raoul snorted at the mention of magic, but he quickly sobered when the Spirit pulled an odd-looking satchel out from behind her back. After showing him that it was empty, she murmured something to it, paused for a half-second, and then dipped her hand into the Bag's mouth to draw forth a new linen shirt and a wool cloak. De Changy's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He accepted her gifts in silence. If she could produce clothes from an empty Bag, maybe she could conjure up some company as well.

Christine, perhaps, he thought. No, he didn't want to see Christine right now. She would whine and fuss…he didn't need that now. (Apparently, he has forgotten that fireworks had chased her, too. Why? Because it's more convenient this way.)

"Well, now, M. le Vicomte, since I have proved my sincerity to you, shall I summon Mlle. Daaé to tend to you?"

Raoul shook his dripping head. "No, there's someone else who would be more helpful, I imagine. Mlle. Brooke…do you know her?"

The Spirit smiled broadly, "Of course! I will fetch her for you." With that she spun on her heel and marched into the woods. Once she was well concealed within the trees, Brooke did a silent squee and victory dance and hugged the magical Poppins Bag to her chest.

_Can't breathe, darling._

"Thank you, Bag!"

_Welcome._

"Can I have some of my Victorian clothes, please?"

_Sure. Is that all?_

"Yes," Brooke whispered happily as she snatched up her blouse and skirt. "No! I need graham crackers, chocolate bars, marshmallows, skewers, and matches."

_Geez! Gonna have a regular camp-out, huh? Well, there you are. NOW are you finished with me?_

"Yup!"

_Good, I must be getting back to HQ. _When Brooke next cast her eyes on the Poppins Bag, she saw that it was gone. Without giving it a second thought, the brunette gathered the requested supplies in her arms and went back to the riverbank.

"Hello?" she called out, pretending to be surprised, stumbling out of the forest like a waking sleepwalker. Raoul, dressed in the new shirt and cloak, turned at the sound of her voice. He approached her timidly.

"Good evening, Mlle! Don't be afraid. It is I, the Vicomte de Changy."

Brooke halted and stared at him for a moment. "How did I get here?"

Raoul feigned innocence; evidently he did not want Brooke to know that he had specifically asked for her to be summoned there by 'magic.' "I don't know. I was chased here by some of those strange fireworks. Did you see them?"

"Yes! They were terrifying! You didn't get hurt did you?"

"I don't think so, just a little frazzled. Nothing to worry about. What are you carrying?"

"When I found myself in the woods just now these things were in my arms."

Raoul reached out to relieve Brooke of her burden, their arms and hands brushing in the process. She relished the contact, however brief.

"These are odd things," Raoul remarked as he arranged the supplies on dry ground. "Ah, matches! Shall I build a fire?"

"Yes, please!" Together, they set about gathering wood. Raoul insisted that she stay put, but Brooke would not hear of it. The Vicomte found that he rather enjoyed working side by side with her; there was a warm sense of camaraderie about the shared task, however small, that made his heart pound out a different rhythm. Soon, a pleasant blaze threw its light around the clearing like a jewel caught in sunlight. Brooke settled down to the business of roasting marshmallows.

"Would you like a s'more?" she asked Raoul. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Some more of what?"

"A _s'more!" _She grinned as she replied, knowing what would come next.

"My dear, mameselle, how can I have some more of something when I have yet to have anything at all?"

Brooke's face met her palm with an exasperated slap. "You're _killing _me, Smalls!"

"I beg you pardon!" Raoul cried, but the bizarre young woman ignored his indignation.

"This is how you make a s'more. First, you take a graham. Then you put the chocolate on the graham." Brooke demonstrated these instructions. "Then you roast a mallow."

She held a skewered marshmallow over the tips of the flames until it was a soft, golden brown. "Then you stick the mallow on the chocolate and cover it with another graham."

Brooke handed the s'more to the shocked Vicomte. He eyed the little sandwich with suspicion for a moment before cautiously biting into it. To his surprise, it was a heavenly confection. Munching happily, he scooted a little closer to his companion, all worries about fireworks gone from his mind as he let himself sink into the peaceful moment. He wiped his sticky fingers on the wool cloak.

"Might I try, Mlle. Brooke?" he asked.

"Certainly!" She handed him the skewer. Raoul jabbed the marshmallow into the fire. Yelping in panic, he whipped it back out as it burst into flames. Brooke quickly extinguished the burning mallow. Raoul looked so disappointed that she almost gave him a hug for comfort.

"It's okay. You can try another."

"It is still edible, isn't it?"

Brooke screwed up her face in disgust, "Yes, but burnt marshmallows are gross!"

Raoul decided to try it anyway. He liked it.

"That's sick," Brooke grumbled as she handed him another marshmallow.

"Brooke?" The Vicomte's voice was low and husky. She met his eyes, startled at his use of name without the prefix.

"Yes?"

"May I apologize for my rude behavior to you earlier this evening?"

Brooke gaped at him. She must have hit the jackpot. A man who apologized!

"Yes, you may, M. le Vicomte."

"Please, call me Raoul."

"Thank you…Raoul."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

When the smoke cleared, the once-beautiful forest resembled an ashtray, smoldering stubs of trees poking out here and there. Not a cricket dared to chirp as all the surviving woods waited for a sign of life. Suddenly, something stirred from the ground, sending a cloud of cinders billowing into the air. Erik raised his head above the ground, and coughing and choking, he yanked off his mask. Something pinned his torso to the floor. Perhaps it was a tree. He shifted his body and felt the something slide along it. No, too limp and light for a tree. A dead animal, then. Erik grimaced at the thought. Shoving himself into a sitting position, he caused the limp something to roll off of him. It flopped to the ground like a carelessly thrown rag doll. Funny, it even had red hair like a rag doll.

Erik's heart nearly stopped.

"Anna!" he cried. Panic rising in his throat, the Phantom gently picked up the unconscious girl. As he carried her away from the ruined glade and into the unsullied recesses of the forest, he suddenly remembered his last thought before the eruption.

_He was crouching low in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the unavoidable fireball. He glanced up when he heard someone calling his name. He saw a streak of navy blue and red and felt a small body slam into his willowy frame, knocking him out of the fireball's direct trajectory. Everything lit up, bright as day and then all was silent and dark. _

"Oh, God!" Erik breathed a quiet prayer. Anna had shoved him out of the way. He slumped to his knees, unable to support both the girl and his grief. He cradled her in his arms, hugging her tightly to his chest. Silently, he wept for his precious friend. No one had ever done so much for him. It did occur to Erik that the explosion _was _Anna's own fault, but that didn't matter to him now. _Where was Brooke? _If she was still alive, it would crush her spirit to see her cousin dead. For a moment, Erik hoped he'd find the other girl's body somewhere nearby, therefore, sparing the brunette the pain of the loss.

Releasing a ragged sigh, Erik took Anna's left hand in his own gloved one and brought the palm to his lips. As he kissed her, he felt the faint flutter of a heart beat.

Anna's mind struggled to break through the stupor. She recalled feeling the same way after that lightning bolt had sent her and her cousin to Erik's doorstep. _Erik. _Yes, she had been trying to save Erik. Did she succeed? Where was she? Was she dead? She drew breath, slow and labored. The scent of Oriental lilies filled her nostrils. _Death. _  
The strong aroma of the flower that stood for death fogged her senses; it was the smell she had always associated with death, ever since the first funeral she attended as a child.

She became aware of something warm and moist pressed to her left palm. _Lips. _Gradually, a body, separate from her own began to take shape: strong arms wrapped around her torso, a long hand gripping her own, and a face swimming above her. She blinked. An angel's voice called her name. It came from the face. _ERIK!_

"Erik!" Anna cried. She was wide-awake. Without thinking, she hoisted herself up and threw her arms around his neck. His body stiffened for a moment before he returned her embrace.

"I thought you were dead!" she whimpered.

"_I _thought the same of _you."_

The young woman pulled back to look at him. She blushed when she found his face only inches from hers. It would be so easy just to lean in and kiss him. However sorely tempted, Anna restrained herself, content to be sitting in his lap, with his arms still draped around her waist.

If Erik was thinking thoughts at all similar to Anna's, he did not show it. All at once, he remembered his suspicions that the girl in his lap and her absent cousin were most likely the culprits behind that outrageous firework display. He launched her to her feet and stood beside her, his burning eyes boring into her.

"What the hell were you two thinking? Wiring the forest like that? And creating those insane fireworks?" he snapped. Anna tried to look innocent.

"It was just a bit of fun. In honor of the holiday!" she offered hopefully.

"What holiday?"

"The Fourth of July! Independence Day!...I'm an _American, _remember?"

"You idiotic, Yankee!" Erik roared. "You might have killed someone!"

"But I didn't."

"Oh, no? Then where is your cousin?"

"With the Vicomte."

Erik blinked. "Then where is Christine?"

"Who cares? Come on!" Anna grabbed his hand and hauled him deeper into the woods. Tired and somewhat shell-shocked, Erik followed. Did he say something about Christine? _In all seriousness, who does care? _the little voice in the back of his mind whispered to him. He didn't protest.

"Where are we going?" he asked aloud.

"To HQ!" Anna led through the labyrinth of tree much like she had just that afternoon. At last they reached a clearing in the trees. Two snoring stable hands lay curled up by a good fire. A cart of wizard's fireworks stood at a safe distance. Anna rushed forward and shook the hobbits out of their slumber.

"Hm! Oh, 'ello, Anna. 'Tis all over?" said Pip.

"Yes, except for that cartload. You and Que are welcome to it, if you'd like."

"'OY! Did ye 'ear tha', Que?" Pip elbowed his comrade.

"Ay, I 'eard. Let's get to it!" They leapt to their feet and scampered off to set off the remaining pyrotechnics.

Erik plopped to the ground, beside the fire. "_More _fireworks?"

Anna dug through a picnic basket as she answered, "Don't worry. These are well-behaved fireworks. Do you want to learn how to make s'mores?"

"Some more of what?"

Anna giggled as she sat down next him, both resting their backs against a sturdy pine tree. Anna yawned and her head nodded. On second thought, she didn't feel up to making s'mores. It had been a looooooong day, about eight chapters' worth of activity. Letting the skewer fall from her grasp, Anna struggled to focus on Gandalf's fireworks bursting overhead. Her head tilted to the left, but there was nothing to support it there. It swung to the right and found a shoulder to rest on. Overcome with weariness, Anna turned into Erik, entwining her arms around his left one and burying her face into the hollow of his neck. Before the Phantom could realize what had happened, she was sound asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

In a small cave along the seashore…

"Stop that! Christine…DON'T TOUCH MY PANTS! Noooooo…these are _my _Don Juan pants! That's right. Go sit in the corner and sing and leave Gerry alone. Very good…good soprano."


	30. Erstwhile

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…but I do own the 2-disc widescreen DVD! SQUEEEEEEEE! It's as close to having Gerry at my beck and call, as I'll ever be. **sigh **

I LIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! authoress emerges from finals week in triumph and does an insane victory dance, complete w/ capers and cavorting…all that fun stuff Yeah! Summertime is here and that means more frequent updating! WOOT! Oh…and to add to my happiness: EPISODE III, baby! After the horrors that were Episodes I & II, this final SW installment was AMAZING! Y'all need to see it ASAP…although it is very sad authoress huggles her cardboard Luke for comfort

Anywho…onward!

**Tian Sirki: **You are so awesomely considerate! Yes…twas finals! (See above paragraphs). I appreciate the German Rubber Ducky song dedication. And you wanted to know if I got the movie (oh, yes!). That is so nice of you! Seriously!

**lady summoner2: **Here it is!

**Pickle: **At the time of your review you were on Ch. 13, so I hope you have read further and discovered my mutant plot, which has been gradually taking form. I never meant to have a plot, just random absurdity, but the characters decided they wanted one. Also, about the whole Phantom + silly girls ludicrous thing, that's why it's fiction and why it's under humor…as an entertainer, I ask you to indulge in willing suspension of disbelief.

**OneWhowalksWithPigeons: **You make me laugh!

**countess kes evenstar: **Oh, Gerry is MY precious!

**Little JC: **Tisn't annoying (hey, it still counts as a review, heehee)…I hope someone answered your question. I got mine at Wal-Mart. Oh, and about the Christine bashing, it just fits in with my storyline and my own characters. Someone has to be the bad guy.

**Heather Lynn: **Wow…your review style changed as fast as Superman in a phone booth. In regards to your review of chapter 1, I really do appreciate serious critiquing, however, you did hit a nerve. You began the review with something about "an abundance of spelling errors and typos" but neglected to point them out. I am _very _picky about making errors in my writing (unless it's 1 in the morning and then I just don't care)—not saying I'm perfect or anything—but when I reread that chapter I only found one error…so if you find them, please, point them out.

**Shakespeare's Love: **That is so cool that someone actually recommended my story to you! I'm glad you liked it!

**PiranhaWomanOfTheAvocadoJungleOfDeath: **Love the name. Love the suggestions. Way ahead of you on the paintball guns…but the ice cream and super soakers…hmm Misty strokes chin in a thoughtful, contemplative gesture I shall definitely keep that in mind. Erik: Oh, dear.

**Musique de la nuit: **Sandlot rocks!

**Mademoiselle Phantom: **Hee,hee…you know what Gerry's Don Juan outfit makes me think of (besides the obvious): a giant (sexy) gingerbread man.

**Silent Masquerade: **Welcome back (to you and me!)

**Solecito: **Ahh, yes the orange dots. I just loved the idea of these little things just buzzing about like flies.

**Pleading Eyes: **I'm glad you liked your cameo. I haven't been on for a while so I'll have to go check on your story. (which I absolutely luff!—long live the pink hair ribbons!) Little Erik: Grr…

**Erik's Girlfriend: **Ah, I'm a not Texan, but I know people from Texas.

**CoolGirlEmily: **What does ROFL mean? I just can't figure that one out.

**TheGreatSporkWielder: **OH! Spork of Approval! So cool. Sporks are friggin' awesome. I'm glad you—and everyone else—enjoyed the little AE fluff moment. I'm glad it brightened your day!

**Phantress: **'ello darlin'! I love _the _Gerry. I have no idea why that amuses me to no end. Your reviews are so much fun. They shall be back in the lair soon…no worries.

**Marianne Brandon: **SQUEENESS! You love the puppy-eyed Colonel too? luff to Alan Rickman for being Colonel Brandon Did you see Hitchhiker's yet? That movie was pure genius! I LOVED Zaphod!

**Savvy The Pen-Nameless: **How perfect is this day? Saw Episode III, had my last final, sighted a Wal-Mart truck AND the PONY EXPRESS CAME THRU! YAH! Yes…beware the dud fireworks!

**Wishmaster: **Sorry the update took so long…but I loved the Hitchhiker's line! VAT? You do not know the meaning of SQUEE? Tis a phangirl's phavorite phorm of expressing her phantom obsession.

**SaraBee: **I have no idea how many more I'll write. As I have said, I'm making this up as I go.

**To all of my fireworks! **Yeah! You guys liked your fireworks! I had fun with those.

Okay…on to the chapter. Sorry, no Erik or Anna or Brooke or Gerry in this one.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ERSTWHILE

_Erstwhile…or should it be meanwhile? _Misty pondered the puzzling question. Her brows knitted together in stern concentration and she glared at her keyboard. She was absolutely certain that she was committing some unspeakable crime against the English language. _Who cares…erstwhile is much more fun to pronounce._

Anywho…erstwhile, meanwhile, back at the Bat Cave, Nadir Khan bustled about Erik's kitchen, preparing a scrumptious dinner for two. Much to Ayesha's horror, the Persian hummed cheerfully to himself as he checked on a batch of snickerdoodle cookies. Nadir was hopelessly tone deaf and Ayesha—after living with the Angel of Music himself—could not abide the terrible sound. Thus, she took refuge in the shadows of the purple canopy that served as the boundary between Erik's half of the master bedroom and the cousins' half, languishing in her agony as her little cat brain struggled to drown out the horrid noise.

Nadir grinned in satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on the table setting. _Light the candles, put the champagne on ice, fold the napkins to look like swans, etc…_ By the time he had watered the last vase of pink roses the clock on the sitting room mantle chimed nine o'clock.

"'Tis time," he quipped to himself. "Best not keep her waiting." He looked for a mirror in which to make last minute adjustments to his hair and clothes. A sleek parchment airplane soared into his hands.

_This is ERIK'S house remember?_

"Yes?"

_That means the only mirrors in the entire house are in the torture chamber._

"Oh."

_Duh. _POOF! The note was whisked away by a small burst of flames. Nadir figured his hair was good to go and left to fetch his date for the evening. Out of respect for Erik's and the girls' privacy, he took the precaution of blindfolding the young woman with a silk scarf before leading her down to the lair.

Their journey through the Phantom's labyrinthine kingdom was incredibly unromantic in comparison to the same scene in the ALW musical or even in Leroux's novel. As efficient and capable as the daroga was, he did not possess a ghost's knack for moving effortlessly in the dark. Having a blindfolded woman tagging along did nothing to simplify the situation. Thus, they spent a long time stumbling through the slimy, rat-infested corridors before they reached the lake. By some miracle, Nadir managed to steer the gondola across the cold, murky waters without capsizing. Needless to say, the little adventure did not earn the Persian any brownie points with the object of his affection.

"Are we there yet?" the buxom blonde whined from her perch at the front of the little boat.

"Almost," he grunted, mumbling to himself, "Just a little to the left…no, the dock is the other way…curse it!"

At long last, Nadir tethered the gondola to the front door steps and led the blonde into the house. Happily, the décor of Erik's sitting room was no different from the next…no Opera House dioramas, no life-size Christine dolls, no swan bed, no campy curtains…but that was only the sitting room. Nadir made a silent mental oath to keep his lady away from both bedrooms.

He guided her into the center of the sitting room, one of her dainty, gloved hands resting in his own palm like a sleeping dove. In his eyes she had never looked lovelier. Her golden curls swept back in the current fashion, the emerald green bodice of her gown hugging her figure, and the elegant cascade of the bustle's train gliding behind her like a peacock's tail. He noticed, with much chagrin, that the hem of her dress was stained with recently acquired mud.

"I apologize for the inconvenience of the journey, Mlle. Giry, but one must make what rendezvous one can," he said in heavily accented French.

"Don't trouble yourself about it, M. Khan," Meg Giry replied in a cheerful, obliging voice, underlined with an irritated tone. She wrinkled her up-turned nose. "Is something burning?"

"Oh! My spinach puffs!" Nadir gasped and dashed into the kitchen, leaving the blindfolded ballerina reeling like a hobbled calf. Groping her way across the room, Meg eventually located the fainting couch—or rather, her shins located the fainting couch. Letting a colorful curse fly, she slumped down onto the couch and wrestled the blindfold from her head. She chucked the scarf aside with frightening vehemence. Huffing and puffing in indignation for a moment or two, Meg soon collected her senses enough to observe her surroundings.

She noted that everything was meticulously arranged and though the furniture was outdated, its old-fashioned elegance lent itself to the charm of the room. Still…something about the smell of the place unsettled and intrigued Meg all at once. Beneath the heavy odor of burnt wood, wax candles, and high-quality parchment paper, there lingered the faint smell of lilies and a damp chill. It was as though some powerful presence haunted the air of the house. Buquet's tales of the Opera Ghost immediately came to Meg's mind, but before she could continue this train of thought Nadir returned, spinach puffs having been successfully rescued.

"Well, that was a close one. Are you hungry, Mlle. Giry?"

She glared at him for a second. "Yes, I am."

"Excellent! May I?" He stepped forward and offered her his arm. To his great delight she accepted it and allowed him to guide her into a little dining alcove. The sight of candle-lit, food-laden table instantly restored Little Giry to high spirits.

"Did you prepare all of this yourself?" she asked, looking up at Nadir with renewed interest and something akin to admiration.

"Yes, naturally."

"For me?"

Nadir returned her gaze; She noted that his eyes were a confusing, but lovely shade of blue-green.

"Yes…it is for you," he replied. Meg favored him with a giggle of joy as he helped her into a chair. The ballerina, accustomed to the rigorous, consuming world of her art and the insincerity of the Opera people, had never felt so pampered or flattered in all her life. She found herself quickly warming to the quirky Persian. Sure he was a bit of a geek, prone to skulking about the Opera House, but he was pleasant-looking and well bred in manners. Besides, it was painfully obvious that she made him nervous, a fact that produced smug satisfaction in the dainty female.

Nadir spoke as he took the chair opposite hers, "I hope you do not mind I've included a few dishes from my native country."

"I should love to try them! We ballerinas rarely get the opportunity to sample such things…unless, of course, we snag a wealthy patron."

Nadir flushed at her blatant allusion to the more vulgar tactics of ladder-climbing sometimes employed by the ballet rats, but her enthusiasm for his cooking pleased him. Meg choked a little on the hot spices of the Persian food, yet she somehow managed to enjoy it. Nadir's nervous fussing amused her and she felt that the oddity of the whole situation was more fun than frightening. At her request, the Perisan spoke of his native country and told her strange stories of the people who lived there. She liked the ones about the shah's lonely magician most of all. Eventually, Nadir tired of hearing his own voice and begged Meg to tell him about her life as a ballerina.

Little Giry, who was becoming more and more impressed by the foreigner, did not think that the former Persian chief of police would care to hear of the idle gossip of ballet rats…but he earnestly insisted.

"It is hard work. Maman is a stickler for perfection…especially in me. From the very beginning of my life, Maman has impressed me with the importance of the arts, particularly one's own art. The other rats do not understand her devotion to dance," Meg explained as she sampled in a delicious chocolate pudding.

"I imagine that camaraderie is not always possible when one lives in constant contact with the same people," Nadir said.

Whether it was from the gentle tone of his voice or something to do with the time of the month, Meg suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to vent a few long-pent up emotions. The Persian would never know what hit him.

"Yes, well…that is especially true when it turns out that your best friend, the beautiful, perfect, innocent little ingénue, is really nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing," she spit out.

Nadir sat up with acute interest. He knew that Meg was most often in the company of Christine Daaé. Anything he could learn about her would be valuable in his dealings with his rambunctious friend, the Opera Ghost. Still…he had never heard anyone, least of all the devoted Little Giry, speak so ill of Christine.

"You cannot mean Mlle. Daaé," he said with incredulity.

Meg sneered. "Oh, the very same. Of course, you would know whom I meant. You are always lurking about and watching…you do not hide so well as the Ghost, monsieur. But that is of little importance. Christine is the most sensational actress I have ever witnessed. She pretends to be all helpless swoons and fluttering angel's eyes, but that is only act for her beaux. We girls see her for what she really is…that is what makes me think that the Phantom must have some female companions, because they play such awful tricks on her. They must see through her, too."

Nadir nearly snarfed his champagne. "Do you really think so?" he spluttered.

Meg arched a disdainful brow, "Yes."

"But I have never heard nor seen anything to indicate that Mlle. Daaé is other than what she seems."

"That is because you are not her 'best friend.' I am privy to the type knowledge that a man never knows until after his honeymoon. Christine is a gold-digger and a shameless prima donna. She wants fame and riches. Nothing more and certainly nothing less."

"But _how _have you become privy to this information?" the analytically minded daroga persisted.

Meg smirked and replied, "Well, I am not above all vices. I have peeked into her diary. That is surest source for things of this nature. Every girl knows that."

"But you are her friend!"

"But she is not _mine. _Everything is one-sided with Christine. She wants Raoul de Changy's riches and title, but does not want to give him her love, if she possesses any at all. And then there is her mysterious suitor. Some say it the Phantom himself, who knows…but Maman has told me that Christine does not deserve the attentions of some one as wonderful as the Ghost. With me, she demands my loyalty and my support, but she gives none in return."

Nadir sat in stunned silence.

An hour later, he returned Meg to the surface of the Opera House. She had smiled coyly at him and allowed him to kiss her hand. He took that as a good sign. He really liked Meg. She was interesting and surprisingly intelligent, not to mention beautiful. But as Nadir slowly cleaned up the dinner mess, he did not think about his dainty ballerina, but rather of her friend, the soprano.

How could Erik's little angel, the woman upon whom he lavished his enormous love, be such a vile, backstabbing wretch? Could Nadir trust Meg's word? Her reliability as a source of information only stretched so far. He would have to investigate the matter himself, but in the mean time, he could not help indulging in some angry thoughts.

The black magician must have been blinded by his burning obsession to not see through Christine's masquerade. It made Nadir's blood curl with a rage unlike any he had felt in years. Meg's maman was right…someone like Erik should never be allowed to waste himself on Christine Daaé. Come to think of it, neither should Raoul de Changy. If what Meg said was true, then Nadir would have to do something to prevent either man from falling prey to Mlle. Daaé's trap.

And he had a pretty good idea of who would be most helpful in his mission…


	31. Plodding On a Different Level

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO….blah, blah, blah.

Okay, quick announcement: The Phamily shall be returning to their wonderful little cave in Chapter 36, with a few more friends than when they left.

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **Oh, man, being taken captive by Anna and Brooke would have been a far more pleasant experience, but such is life, still we love it, eh? And yes, that is two more for the home team.

**Solecito: **You used 'phamily'! I don't know why, but that made me extremely happy. (easily amused). But see above A/N for the answer to your question.

**LenisVox: **Yeah, Christine is out of character, but like you said, it makes her more despicable. I need her to be unlikable; otherwise it's just difficult to work with. (Besides, tis loads of fun)

**Master Darth Warious: **Do you know something? the new trilogy goes through bad guys like normal people go through underwear. They should have just kept Darth Maul around. I, mean, Count _Dooku? _(facepalm) who thought up that name?

**Cold Fate: **(happy hobbit dance) yah, on being one of your favorite authors! Thank you! (feels all warm and fuzzy inside). Presents reviewer with Persian plushie.

**Tian Sirki: **SQUEE! I'm your favorite, too! (more warm fuzzies) Absolutely on the emailing thing. My address is posted on my profile.

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **More Erik coming up!

**Heather Lynn: **Thank you for clearing up that typo thing. Had me worried. Anywho, thanks for recommending the story to others…word-of-mouth is always a good sign.

**Phantress: **'ello! I think your review got cut off or something…which makes me sad cuz I love your reviews. Erik: Mmm, yes, she was very distraught over that, quite uncontrollable, and you _know _how she is when that happens.

Oh, and must tell you, Phantress, blueberries will be making an appearance in the next chapter! Yeah for the blueberries!

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **Ew. Good luck with the finals. And, yes, laughter is a good medicine…"a cheerful heart is good medicine!"

**SimplyElymas: **Cuddly Persian plushie for you!

**ShaShiSar221: **She hates the dark? Hmm…that is so cruel (maniacal laughter) I LOVE it! (I'm evil I know)

**Marianne Brandon: **(Gasp!) I'm anxious to see _Dear Frankie. _Some review on the net said that Gerry wasn't good in it (snarls)…but I hesitate to give much credit to the assertion as the review was poorly written anyway. You have given me new hope! I still haven't read all of _Sense and Sensibility. Pride and Prejudice _is, like, the most amazing book ever. Misty Darcy…how does that sound?

**LCCoconut: **Yeah! You caught the _Emperor's New Groove _allusion. I love that movie. (sigh)

**Pleading Eyes: **Yeah! I'm so flattered that you missed me! But your phic has got me all tied up in suspenseful knots! ARGH! That's a good thing though…I love Little Erik…he's so snarky.

**easternelvenlady: **It really makes me happy to know how much you enjoy this phic.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PLODDING ON A DIFFERENT LEVEL

There had been no excitement the few weeks following the fourth of July. The vacationers had woken up on the beach, happy to find that no one had a hangover. They did not remember anything about the fireworks, which was definitely beneficial to everyone's sanity.

Only a select few recalled the spectacular pyrotechnics: the cousins, the hobbits, the Opera Ghost, the Vicomte, the singer, and the Gerry. When Raoul and Christine discovered that no one else remembered the fireworks they decided it would be wise to not mention the whole thing for fear of being taken for lunatics. The others feigned ignorance as well…but for other reasons.

Much to Gerry's satisfaction, his long night of babysitting had paid off. Though the relationships were still plodding along at a snail's pace, things were plodding on a different level for Brooke and Raoul and for Anna and Erik.

Following the bizarre firework night, Christine made the mistake of assuming that if she stayed abed for a few days, faking sickness, her two beaux would pay her every flattering and nurturing attention. With Christine 'indisposed' for four days straight, Raoul was free to spend time with a particularly rambunctious group of young people, including Annette and Max, Cecily and her brothers, and, most importantly, Brooke.

Raoul found the quirky brunette intriguing for she was so different from Christine. All of the qualities he secretly wished Christine would someday acquire, Brooke already possessed. Intelligence was definitely at the top of the list. Brooke read voraciously and was capable of holding her ground in an intellectual debate. She challenged Raoul and he enjoyed it, because, despite popular belief, the Vicomte was very well informed.

Brooke was pretty, too. That night on the riverbank, Raoul had carefully studied her face by the glow of the fire. He noted the slight turn at the tip of her rounded nose and the bemusing twist of her smile. Her emerald green eyes sparkled when she laughed and joked. And the simplicity of her clothes made her seem more tangible and real.

Of course, Raoul being the honorable young man that he was, felt uneasy about just striking up a courtship between himself and the bewitching girl. Thus, he resorted to attaching himself to her group of friends, so as to make everything seem more respectable. The Vicomte twinged with guilt whenever he visited Christine in her room. He never stayed long for he was always anxious to be joining the group in some outing. As he sat by the singer's bedside, he mentally compared her to Brooke and began to find more and more faults with Christine. He felt that he was being positively unfaithful…but he just couldn't help himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To Gerry's utmost amusement, it was faintly apparent that even the passionate, obsessive Erik was susceptible to a change of heart. Like Raoul, he began to neglect Christine in favor of another lady.

Anna's foolish attempt to saved Erik from a certain mass of squeeing fireworks had touched a cord deep within the Opera Ghost's guarded, darkened soul. He still could not quite grasp the fact that someone—a woman no less—had been willing to throw herself (literally) in the path of danger for his sake. What was more, she had slept in his arms that night. His attachment to Anna deepened from brother and sister to friendship, with just a hint of something more.

Anna appreciated it. Being a phangirl, she understood that Erik's confidence and friendship was a rare gift. He permitted her to peer into his mind and soul. In return, she allowed him the same privilege. And much to her relief, he accepted that privilege.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna stood beside the piano, which had been rented out to the Lerouxs during their stay at the inn, and skimmed through some of Erik's work.

"Do you approve?" he asked, coming up behind her. A few days before, he would have nearly punjabbed her for taking such a liberty, but now he _wanted _her to understand this side of him.

"Yes…some parts are not nearly as complicated as I thought your work would be," she replied.

"Complexity does not always equate to greatness. It is best to remember that, in some cases, less is more. If the piece does not require a dizzying arrangement of sixteenth notes, then it should not be included. A composer must think of the piece first, and never give a thought to impressing anyone."

Anna smirked, "I always hated playing sixteenth notes anyway."

Erik glanced at her in surprise, "I did not know you were gifted musically in any way, Anna." He eyed her with new interest. Anna could practically see the clockwork-like wheels turning in his mind.

"Don't get your hopes up, Erik. I only played the flute for my high school marching band and I sucked at it."

"A marching band?"

"Yes, that's where you walk and play music at the same time…from memory."

"I gathered that much, but you are a woman."

"So?"

"That's right. I forgot, for a moment, that you are from a different time."

"Tis okay. I forget that myself sometimes." Anna paused for a moment before continuing, "Erik, do you think you could teach me to play the piano?"

The Phantom arched an eyebrow. She blushed and fidgeted under his stern gaze.

"I used to play it when I was very young. I always wished I had continued. You're the best pianist I've ever heard. Please?" She turned up the charm and puppy-ness of her brown eyes and pouted (very prettily, Erik observed).

Gerry, who was watching the tête-à-tête from a crack in his bedroom door, thought the two made a lovely pair, Erik so tall, elegant, and a wee bit shy, Anna slender and sweetly encouraging. _If only that dolt could see this for himself, then perhaps he'd come to his senses and love her like she deserves. _

Erik didn't get the chance to answer Anna's request. The clock on the mantle chimed five o'clock in the afternoon. Both the Ghost and the girl jumped at the unexpected clamor. Anna backed away towards her room.

"Crud, I promised Brooke I'd meet her and the others down stairs for dinner and if I don't get ready now I'll be late. You can think about it…maybe?" She peered up at Erik with hopefully pleading look of child begging for a present. Erik gave her a curt nod and she scampered away to ready her person for the evening's activities.

The girl reappeared in half an hour, dressed in the pretty white evening gown that had stolen Erik's breath the night of the thunderstorm and chat with the phans. Her copper hair was swept up in an elegant mass of curls and a pair of glittering chandelier earrings dangled from her ear lobes like crystal teardrops.

Erik stared. Anna blushed. She moved forward shyly and, to break the strange tension, twirled around once, and asked him what he thought of the look.

"You look like…an angel, my dear," he answered quietly. Anna's heart fluttered violently. _An angel? _But that was the pet name Erik reserved for Christine…or what Erik was referred to himself. Anna did a happy dance on the inside. Feeling elated and giddy, she forgot to be shy and skipped up to his side.

"You can join us if you like…just lurk in the shadows or something," she suggested. She gave him that hopeful look again.

Erik stiffened and pretended to be aloof and replied coldly, "Perhaps."

Anna smiled and squeezed his arm…he couldn't fool her anymore. "Thanks, Erik." She trotted to the door and called out, "Gerry, darling, are you ready?"

The Gerry emerged from his room, bedecked in his classic evening clothes by way of a reply. Anna couldn't help going a _little _droolly for a moment (hey, could you?). Much to his own surprise, Erik seethed with jealousy and silently resolved to take Anna up on her offer to join everyone down stairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Okay…everyone read and review!


	32. A Sing Off

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO (sigh)

WARNING: There are a lot of song lyrics in this chapter. I usually abhor chapters with lots of songs lyrics, but this is a POTO phic so it _had _to happen sometime. (shrugs)

Sorry, on the lack of review replies. I love you all, but I'm so anxious to get this chapter up that I just can't wait.

Quick Translation: Erik speaks in French near the end. He says, "Sing, my blackbird." Please don't murder me if this is incorrect French usage. (puppy eyes)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A SING OFF

Gerry and Anna stepped into the dining room and found it nearly empty of any human life. A few maids bustled about the tables, straightening the silver utensils and lighting candles. The dining room was a large room, though it looked much smaller due to the tables and chairs that crowded it. The doorways leading to the stairs or to the kitchen or to the lounge were hung with green velvet curtains. The rest of the room was carpeted and wall papered in light green shades; small potted trees and tall, wing backed chairs occupied the corners; and at the back of the room, near the bar, sat a piano forte.

A lovely figure, dressed in lavender, sat at the piano, quietly fingering a little tune. Anna and her beau approached silently, but the young woman at the piano was attune to slight noises and heard them coming. She swiveled around to greet them.

"Good evening!" Brooke chirped. Anna curtsied and Gerry bowed.

The brunette went droolly for a moment upon seeing the Phantom in all of his evening clothed sexiness, before she continued, "Nobody's around yet, how about a song, Anna?"

"Should we?" The redhead looked doubtfully up at Gerry.

He smiled back and gently disengaged her arm from his elbow. "Make me proud, my angels," he purred. The girls nodded and Brooke turned to the piano keys as Gerry settled himself into a wing-backed chair conveniently shadowed by curtains and plants. Brooke cracked her knuckles and Anna batted her cousin's fingers in disapproval. The brunette grinned rakishly as she started up the introduction to her song of choice. The tune was instantly recognizable and Anna rolled her eyes at it.

"Terribly clichéd, don't you think?" she said.

"Oh, it tis, but I just can't help it. The clichéd is sometimes the most appropriate, you know."

"Fine." Anna took a deep breath and began to sing.

_Tale as old as time,_

_True as it can be,_

_Barely even friends,_

_Then somebody bends,_

_Unexpectedly._

Gerry closed his eyes and listened to his young protégés, swaying his head ever so slightly and tapping one (big) foot. He was well aware of the dark shadow lurking behind the plant and curtains. Brooke sang next.

_Just a little change,_

_Small to say the least,_

_Both a little scared,_

_Neither one prepared,_

_Beauty and the Beast._

Raoul sank into a chair at their table, listening contentedly, noting every flicker of Brooke's dainty fingers and thinking that lavender had never looked better. Anna sang again.

_Ever just the same,_

_Ever a surprise,_

_Ever as before,_

_Ever just as sure_

_As the sun will rise!_

Her voice lifted modestly. Her lips curled in a smile, as she seemed to test her new abilities. Brooke grinned in satisfaction and played an extra little flourish for fun. Somewhere behind him, Gerry heard the dark shadow muttering in astonishment. The cousins sang together, in good harmony.

_Tale as old as time,_

_Tune as old as song,_

_Bittersweet and strange,_

_Find and you can change,_

_Learning you were wrong._

More people filed into the room, whispering excitedly as they listened to the cousins' duet. They smiled and nodded in approval. Neither Anna nor Brooke noticed. Brooke had lost herself in the joy of the song; Anna was lost in the strange similarities between it and her own situation.

_Certain as the sun,_

_Rising in the east,_

_Tale as old as time,_

_Song as old as rhyme,_

_Beauty and the Beast._

Brooke left Anna to finish the lyrics.

_Tale as old as time,_

_Song as old as rhyme,_

_Beauty and the Beast._

Anna's gentle voice held the last note and faded with the final piano chord. Silence descended for a moment and then the whole room erupted in enthusiastic applause. The cousins absolutely started in shock. Brooke shot up from her seat and would have stumbled if Raoul had not been there in an instant to hold her up.

"That was the loveliest thing I have ever heard," he told her as he escorted her to their table.

"Thank you…how much did everyone hear?" she asked, trying to hide her embarrassed blush.

"I came in near the beginning. Everyone else followed after that. Don't worry about that, Brooke. It was beautiful!"

Brooke only smiled shakily in return as she sat down to the praises of their friends. Raoul fetched Anna to the table as well, but before he could take the empty seat to Brooke's left, Christine plunked herself down. Everyone stared at her for an incredulous moment.

"Good evening, Mlle. Daaé. What an unexpected pleasure," Cecily said icily.

Anna snorted quietly to her cousin, "Unexpected indeed." Brooke did not respond, but only glared daggers at the soprano. Surely the bug-eyed moron should have known better than to incur their wrath again. _But, _Brooke's thought reminded her; _she is a moron for a reason._

Raoul gaped for a second at the singer before sheepishly shuffling around to take the chair to Anna's right.

"Glad to see you are well, Mlle. Daaé," Annette said shortly as the servers brought out the first course.

"Thank you, Annette. I am feeling much better now than I have in years," Christine replied with an air of self-importance that was terribly out-of-place for a mere opera singer. The others at the table secretly sneered at her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the vacationers ate and chattered, Gerry still sat in his chair, carrying on a conversation with the dark shadow that was Erik.

"_You _taught them to sing and play, didn't you?" Erik hissed. "They sang abysmally before they met you!"

"Oh, yes, I taught them to sing. You didn't think I spent all those hours just letting them grope me, did you?" Gerry replied.

Erik was silent.

Gerry smirked his sexiest smirk and continued, "Interestingly, Brooke was already a fine pianist. Said she took lessons for years back in their own time. They have potential, Anna in particular…don't you think so?"

Erik muttered something indistinct in reply. He was still sorting through his feelings on the matter. He was furious that someone other than himself had been the means of improving the cousins' voices. The strength of his possessiveness shocked him. It was really rather frightening. At the same time, he was amazed that they could ever sing well at all, especially when he recalled them singing to that awful rock and roll rubbish. _Ah! There was another wretched thought! _That the stupid, bloody imposter should see talent where he, _the _Angel of Music, could not (or would not) was terribly humiliating. To make matters worse, the smirking Gerry was obviously aware of this. Erik fumed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dessert came and by then Christine had succeeded in irritating everyone at the table, with the exception of Cecily's dense brothers.

The cousins were experiencing violent urges again, while Cecily and Annette were making mental notes to snub the upstart soprano at later events. Max felt the need to slam his head into a wall. Raoul was having a mental argument with himself that went something like the following:

_Heavens above! That woman is getting under my skin tonight!_

**Ah! What a terrible way to think about the woman I love. I love Christine!**

_Do you?_

**Of course, I do! I followed her all the way out here because of my love for her.**

_Actually, it was only because she begged you to cover her traveling expenses and you figured you might as well take a vacation as well._

**What does that matter? I still love her.**

_She's being awfully obnoxious tonight._

**Stop it!**

_Well, she is. Look at everyone else. They look like they want to kill something…or someone._

**But I had to protect her from that monster!**

_Personally, I think she rather likes toying with that monster…and with you._

**Oh, Lord.**

_Brooke, on the other hand, seems to genuinely enjoy your company._

**Yes, she does. I like Brooke. Eek. Did I just say that?**

_Yes, you did. Don't be ashamed. You'd be an idiot and a real fop if you weren't attracted to her._

**Wait! Who said anything about attraction? I only said I like her. I'm supposed to be in love, desperately in love with Christine.**

_But Christine is boring._

**True.**

_And annoying._

**Yes, yes.**

_And has no figure to speak of._

**All right! I see the point. **

A high-pitched squeal of indignation broke through this fascinating conversation.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm allergic to blueberries?" Christine shrieked at their server. The poor boy colored scarlet before snatching up the singer's dessert platter and bolting for kitchen. The whole room turned to stare in the general direction of Christine. Everyone at her table sank just a little lower in their chairs and seemed unexplainably enthralled by their own dessert. Everyone except the cousins.

Brooke wore an eerie smile of predatory satisfaction as she questioned Christine, "Are you really allergic to blueberries?"

"Yes!" Christine snarled. "If I eat them, or anything with blueberries in it, I become violently ill."

"How interesting," Anna remarked, grinning evilly. Yes, bad things would be happening soon. Stupid bug-eyed moron.

After deciding that the rest of the vacationers had redirected their attention back to their own tables, Cecily spoke up in a most melancholy voice, "It is so dreadfully depressing to think that the season is already coming to an end. I do so hate returning to Paris."

Annette sat up like a chipper puppy, "Oh, but we shall see each other in Paris. I am determined to have you all at our wedding."

The females at the table squealed with delight while the men plugged their ears.

"I know where your town house is, Cecily," Annette continued. "Mlle. Daaé lives at the opera house, of course." She added this with a slight sneer, while Cecily and her brothers and Max snorted into their napkins. "But where do you stay in Paris, Anna?"

The cousins choked on their drinks. Christine lifted an eyebrow.

"I, um, er, we…live…with our brother," Anna offered lamely. Brooke paled. _We live in the opera house, too. Five floors beneath the stage. On the shore of a lake. With the Opera Ghost. _

Annette giggled, "I assumed that, my dear. But _where _is your brother's town house?"

The cousins were spared the danger of fumbling for an answer when Mme. de Pouf called for everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, coffee is to be served in the lounge. There is a piano in there as well, as I am sure we are all anxious to hear more delightful duets." She smiled in the direction of the Mlles. Leroux. Everyone chattered in agreement. The cousins felt they would die of embarrassment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gerry and Erik followed the crowd into the lounge, both keeping to the shadows. The former was shrewdly observing the cousins' interaction with Mlle. Cecily Cheney. He noted that the black-haired young woman had a curious air about her, as though she, like the cousins, had not originated from the present time. She seemed to know something, or perhaps she _wanted _to know something. _Perhaps she is the one, _he mused to himself. The Gerry determined to observe Cecily for the remainder of the night. His time was drawing near and he needed to make a decision soon, or else all might be lost.

Erik watched Christine with growing anger as she darted to the piano, obviously anxious to parade her talents and upstage the cousins. Erik knew Christine's abilities would put his little companions to shame. They did not yet possess her range and clarity. He _had _picked out multiple errors during their earlier performance. But what irked him now was how disturbingly similar Christine seemed to La Carlotta.

There were few people in the world that Erik despised more than the conceited, spoiled diva. To see his precious angel standing beside the piano, looking as smug as her competitor sickened him. _How dare she peddle her talents like that attention hungry whore! _That foolish, stupid child must not have suspected his presence or else she would never presume to make such an exhibition.

The others in the room looked rather confused as Christine began to sing an opera piece, without accompaniment. They glanced at the Mlles. Leroux, who pretended not to notice the stares. The Vicomte gleefully took a seat beside Brooke and engaged her in a quiet conversation.

"Raoul, oughtn't you listen to Christine's song?" Brooke chided in a teasing manner.

"To be brutally honest, she does sing so well tonight. There is something lacking her voice. I cannot imagine what it is."

"Indeed! I have heard that she possesses the voice of an angel, so beautiful men would kill for her." Brooke stole a sly glance at the Vicomte.

"Well, er, perhaps."

Anna occupied herself with Cecily.

"Where _do _you and your sister live when you go to Paris?"

"Ah, I would tell you, but then your brothers might come to my door."

Cecily covered an unladylike laugh. "True. True. They do fancy you and your sister. I should think they would like to accompany the two of you to Mme. de Pouf's ball next Saturday. That is, if you do not already have escorts."

"I am afraid we do have escorts. M. Gerard and our brother. But we shall each save a dance for Dominic and Jacques if that would suffice."

"I think it would, although you are being too generous. They don't deserve any such favors. They are horrid boys."

Anna grimaced as Jacques leered at her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine's angelic voice soared and filled the room with a sound sweeter than honey.

_Poisoned honey, _Erik thought to himself. Her arrogance and pride came out in her song. Her teacher writhed with rage, barely able to restrain his censure. His only consolation was the observation that the rest of the audience was vaguely aware of the poison in her voice as well. The aristocrats, as wild and imprudent as they sometimes were, did not take to such presumptuous behavior in someone of Christine's status. The stupid girl did not realize she was digging her own social grave. _Serves her right for her disobedience. _

All at once he came upon a wickedly amusing idea.

As Christine approached the end of her song, her voice began to climb higher and higher, reaching impressively inhuman heights. Mme de Pouf started to fear for the safety of her glassware. Erik cackled to himself as he waited for the right moment. Just a little while longer…_there!_

_Foolish child! Did you think your imprudence would escape my notice? How dare you defy the Angel of Music!_

Christine choked on the last note. That voice! He was here! Her eyes widened and darted nervously around the room. Apparently, no one else had heard the voice. They stared her for a moment before politely clapping and hiding any indelicate giggling. Flushing, out of both embarrassment and fear, Christine hastily sat down near the cousins and the Vicomte. She kept throwing anxious glances around the room, but Erik was nowhere to be seen.

In the shadows, Erik sniggered at his clever joke.

"Nice," the Gerry said.

Meanwhile, M. de Pouf had had the usual too many glasses of port and was feeling very roguish.

"Bery good! But I woun't give ye fife francs fer a lassh who didn'a know a good drinkin' s-song," he slurred. The young men chuckled and a few cheered.

Dominic Cheney called out, "How about the Mlles. Leroux? Do you know a good drinking song?"

Cecily hissed at her brother for his rudeness, but the cousins grinned in response. They _did _know a drinking song and since they figured that their position in Parisian society had little bearing for the companions of a reclusive madman, they went to the piano. The crowd whispered excitedly.

Brooke played an introduction before she and Anna launched into their little ditty.

_Hey, ho! _

_To the bottle I go,_

_To heal my heart,_

_And drown my woe._

_Rain may fall,_

_The wind may blow,_

_But there's to beeeeeeeeeeeeeee…_

_Many miles to go!_

_Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,_

_And the stream that flows from hill to plain,_

_Better than rain or rippling brook…_

Anna threw her arms out and finished: _Is a mug of beer inside this Took!_

Their audience cheered and laughed. M. de Pouf wiped tears of joy from his eyes as he hiccupped and tried to clap while still holding his glass. In the back, Erik rolled his eyes. They sang that song all the time in the lair. Still, he found he enjoyed their silly song more than Christine's classical opera aria.

Raoul clapped enthusiastically and called for another song. Everyone except the sulky soprano joined in his request. Brooke began another song. Gerry chuckled softly as he recognized the tune. Raoul settled in his chair, prepared to admire, Erik settled into the shadows, unprepared for whatever consequences this triumph on the part of his companions had in store.

Brooke opened her mouth and sang softly, with appropriate timidity.

_Where in the world_

_Have you been hiding?_

_Really, you were_

_Perfect!_

_I only wish _

_I knew your secret._

_Who is your new_

_Tutor?_

Unconsciously, Erik moved forward to listen. His movement caught Anna's eye as she glanced back at Gerry. She paled when she saw the shadow moving behind her teacher. Erik would hear her! She opened her mouth to sing, but no sound came out.

For one horrific moment it seemed the whole room held its breath, waiting for their cue to exhale. Brooke's green eyes snapped up to her friend's face. The brunette kept her cool and improvised on the piano to buy time.

Erik's blue eyes locked on Anna. What was wrong with her? Then he realized she was staring at him. It gratified his vanity to know he made her nervous, but he did not desire that gratification at the cost of the music. So he threw his voice into her teardrop earrings.

_Chanter, mon merle._

Anna's face lit up and she sang.

_Father once spoke_

_Of an angel . . ._

_I used to dream he'd_

_Appear . . ._

_Now as I sing,_

_I can sense him . . ._

_And I know_

_He's here . . ._

The whole room shuddered with giddy expectation and delight. Brooke smiled widely and Anna forgot the butterflies in her stomach as they happily threw themselves into the music. They were having fun now.

_Here in this room_

_He calls me softly . . ._

_Somewhere inside . . ._

_Hiding . . ._

_Somehow I know_

_He's always with me . . ._

_He - the unseen_

_Genius . . ._

Brooke took up the next part carefully replacing Christine's name in the lyrics.

_Angel, you must have_

_Been dreaming . . ._

_Stories like this can't_

_Come true . . ._

_Angel, you're talking_

_In riddles . . ._

_And it's not_

_Like you . . ._

Anna sang with spirit and with all of her love for the Phantom, as any of her fellow phans would have done in her place.

_Angel of Music!_

_Guide_

_And guardian!_

_Grant to me your_

_Glory!_

Brooke joined her in the final duet. With a grin of triumph, Anna saw Raoul smile broadly as he rocked to rhythm of the music.

_Who is this angel?_

_This…_

_Angel of Music!_

_Hide no longer!_

_Secret and strange _

_Angel…_

Anna shivered.

_He's with me, even now…_

Erik's eyes sparked. What was she playing at?

_Your hands are cold…_

They felt like ice.

_All around me…_

Nervous brown eyes flickered to the shadowed corner.

_Your face, Angel,_

_It's white…_

Brooke wasn't lying.

_It frightens me…_

Anna clenched her hands and turned with imploring eyes to her best friend. Brooke nodded in encouragement.

_Don't be frightened…_


	33. The Gerry Institutes Plan B

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…but this retelling is mine (Anna and Brooke and any non-POTO characters are mine) in a way and I would appreciate it if people who plan on posting it else where, would either ask me for permission first and then _give me credit! _or not do it at all! Thank you!

Okay! Review replies are back by popular demand!

**SimplyElymas: **See! Great minds think alike!

**Nameless Waif: **Ha! Your spastic reviews were extremely amusing. I was writing this chapter and watching your reviews pop up in my inbox at the same time. I was like, okay she just finished chapter 28; the next one should be coming in a bit. Twas fun! I am glad you love this story so much though I should feel terrible if it cost you your English final! I hope you did well despite the late night of not-studying.

**Solecito: **I would beg to differ on the OOCness of Erik's joke on Christine. I find a bit of a snark to begin with and I'm pretty much convinced that it would really piss him off if he saw Christine acting like La Carlotta, so I wouldn't put it past him to mess with her a little bit by way of punishment. However, on the very serious subject of CGI vs. ships on wires: so true. I liked more of the story elements of Episode III, but the effects were like OMGLOOKWHATWECANDO! and like a huge commercial for toys and action figures. So, yeah. Original trilogy is so much better. (huggles cardboard Luke)

**tink8812: **People do not understand what hard work it is to be in a marching band. I'm glad to find a fellow band nerd! Heehee!

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **Thank you, darling. BTW this character is so like you it's scary…and convenient.

**aragornnme: **Power to drunk hobbits! Gotta luv 'em! The blueberries will be making their grand appearance in the next chapter. MWHAHAHA!

**LenisVox: **I know, I know, but I had to change the lyrics b/c the whole room would have been like WTF if they left Christine's name in there.

**ShaShiSar221: **Well, here's the answer to the Gerry-Cecily question.

**Mongie: **Hmm, this phic seems to liven up many classes. I have a sneaking suspicion that I may be the death of half a million report cards. Oh, my.

**Pleading Eyes: **Yeah! Crumpets! (hugs crumpet and squishes it) Yesh, Christine is stupid. MWHAHA. OOOOOOOOOh I am dying to see the developments between Little Erik and his sire!

**Phantress: **My mother is making me listen to the soundtrack from _Elf, _which is a Christmas movie….and it's June. (le sigh) I had to tell someone. I'm glad you liked Raoul's argument with himself, I found the visual and audio image hysterical. Raoul hears voices in his head. HA! I crack myself up. (wipes tears from eyes) Erik: You are so pathetic. / Misty: I know, but you luff me anyway.

**Pestiset: **Amazing how long it takes to read something isn't it? I do that all the time.

**Marianne Brandon: **I just watched _Sense & Sensibility _two times in a row last night. I just ADORE Colonel Brandon. (sigh). Anywho. I did so appreciate your review. The longer the review, the longer the review reply, usually. Wow, I never thought anybody would imagine themselves in Anna _or _Brooke's place. That's a good sign! The Bag will be making more appearances when they get back to the lair, which will be in chapter 36, I believe. More random chaos will ensue as well.

**enigmatic mystery: **OMG! Happiness is the Red Death Pen. Thank you. Somehow that makes me feel totally evil. Is that bad?

**Sandra: **I knew it was gonna be that verb that got me in trouble. I know how to conjugate them in Spanish, but not French. Thank you so much for the correction!

**Writer4Him: **I am interested in the meaning of your penname. (Anna and Brooke curtsy to reviewer)

**Surrender: **I was excessively pleased with all of your enthusiasm for the different parts of the story. "Wandering Child" is the best song ever. Gerry sounds so angsty when he sings it. (drool, faint). Welcome to official phangirldom!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

THE GERRY INSTITUTES PLAN B

"Do NOT slouch!" Erik growled. He flattened a palm against the small of Anna's back and forced her sit up, straight and stiff as a flagpole. She momentarily considered slouching more often, but thought the better of it when she heard the aggravation in the Phantom's normally patient tone.

"Now, once again with the scales," he ordered. Anna obediently placed her fingers on the ivory piano keys so that her thumbs met at middle C and began to play a basic scale exercise in C major. Erik kept time with his foot, tapping slowly and with perfect rhythm.

"You're going too fast. Just play quarter notes."

Anna concentrated harder, which, naturally, messed her up even more.

"Stop," Erik sighed. "I believe we need to go back to counting."

Anna huffed in frustration, "But I've learned all of this already, Erik!"

"And you are evidently out of practice! Anna, I am _not _going to simply pick up where you're well intentioned, but senile music instructor left you at the age of ten. You are starting over!"

The redhead flushed a shade lighter than her hair in shame and embarrassment, knowing she should have behaved more sensibly. Taking piano lessons from Erik was a good deal more grueling than she had anticipated, but she was determined to not disappoint him, even if that meant some serious embarrassment on her part. She sat quietly for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at the unfinished score for _Don Juan Triumphant, _which lay on top of the piano.

Erik secretly worried that he had upset her. However, he was not her brother and friend now, he was her teacher for the moment and he would not coddled her wounded pride. But he could respect her thoughtful contemplation, he knew enough about Anna to suspect that she was not being idle or resentful in her thoughts. Finally, the girl stirred and picked up the top sheet of Erik's masterpiece.

"I never thought _much _of my musical skills, but the ability to read music and play it, however horribly, always made me consider myself bilingual. Music is like its own language, isn't it?" she said shyly.

"It _is _its own language. By that light, I suppose you are trilingual now."

"Yeah, I finally mastered a second _spoken _language," Anna laughed lightly. Erik only spoke to the cousins in French now. Of course, they still talked to each other in English. It gave them smug satisfaction that Erik's English was not quite as fluent as their own, though they did have the advantage of being native speakers, plus about one hundred thirty-five years of new vocabulary.

"I'm sorry I complained," Anna said as she put the sheet of music back in its place and resumed her former position at the keys. Erik nodded and began tapping his foot again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A light tapping at her bedroom window interrupted the incessant scratching of Brooke's drawing pencil. Laying aside her sketchpad, the brunette glided to the window and opened it. There, nestled in the crook of an oak limb, sat Pip and Que.

"Hullo, Miss Brooke!" Que chirped, tipping his newsy cap to the bemused girl.

"Hi…what do you want?"

"Weel, we need ta speck wef Master Gerard, ef ye don' mind," Pip said. Brooke nodded and went to hunt out the Gerry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Gerry, darling, are you decent?" Brooke called as she tiptoed into his bedroom.

"Would it stop you if I wasn't?" a rumbling baritone growl answered.

"No."

"Didn't think so," Gerry said as he crawled out of his favorite chair, dressed in a poet's shirt and black trousers. Brooke looked suitably disappointed.

She jerked her brown head in the direction she had just come from; "There's some hobbits in the oak that wish to speak with you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik was acutely aware of the girl and the imposter crossing the sitting room behind his back. He had no idea why he was suddenly filled with a terrible need to keep Anna's eyes away from the handsome Phantom. It made his insides curl with disgust whenever he saw that dreadful lusty gaze creep into her eyes and that rivulet of drool snake down her chin. It was extremely annoying.

He bent over Anna's shoulder, pretending to concentrate on her playing. He watched her with an unusual intensity, his whole being waiting for the Gerry to be safely out of sight. The imposter had just reached the bedroom door when Anna's head began to turn in that direction.

_Curse it! _Erik thought. But to his surprise, her eyes did not pause on Gerry, or show any sign of acknowledgement. Instead the coffee brown orbs continued to travel up, up, up, until they came to rest on Erik. The Opera Ghost blinked in surprise for a moment.

"Erik…" Anna whispered.

"_Yes?"_

"You're hovering."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gerry leaned out the window and poked the sleeping stable hands. Their heavy eyelids pulled open and it took them a while to fully wake. Gerry growled and grumbled at their lethargy. Finally, Pip pulled himself together.

"Well? Did you discover anything about her?" Gerry asked impatiently.

"Yes, she wos talkin' wef Miss Annette en the garden an' Que an' me hid behind the bench an' ov'r 'eard 'em talkin' an—"

Gerry slapped a hand over Pip's mouth. "This phonetic spelling is getting on my nerves," the Phantom snarled; looking heavenwards, he added, "Misty, please?"

A parchment note materialized in his free hand: _Sorry, darling, would a flashback scene help?_

"It would."

_Cue flashback ripple effect!... _

_Pip and Que jostled for the most comfortable position within the hole in the verbena hedge. This spy work was becoming more and more of chore. They almost wished they were in the stable brushing down Big Nelly. Despite their scooting and hissing, the two women seated on the park bench before them did not seem to be aware of the eavesdroppers._

_Cecily Cheney and Annette lounged in the shade of a stunted elm. Annette rattled on and on about her wedding plans: the floral arrangements, the music, the gown…blah, blah, blah. Cecily listened with only half an ear. At last, Annette noticed, with some irritability, that her companion was not showing much interest in the lace and fabric of her wedding gown. _

"_Cecily, where is your mind today?" Annette snapped._

"_Hmm?" Cecily started out of her daydreams and blinked at the slender blonde woman._

"_Have you heard a word I've said? What is wrong?"_

"_Nothing, nothing important. Pray, continue." Cecily's feeble tone and lack of sincerity irked Annette further, but her curiosity was piqued by her friend's secretive behavior._

"_No, I shall not speak another syllable until you've told me what is on your mind. Really, Cecily, you may trust me."_

_The black-haired girl's eyes snapped up to her companion's face, eagerly searching it for reassurance of Annette's friendship. Finally, Cecily was persuaded to divulge her secret longings. Pip and Que perked up to listen._

"_It is only that I hate returning to Paris. It is so dull there with all of our social obligations. Dominic and Jacques can do whatever they please because they are men, but someone has to uphold the family dignity, and that someone has been me, ever since the passing of our parents. I wish I could forgo the formalities and obligations and just do…something," Cecily finished with a defeated sigh and drooped her shoulders. _

"_Something? That is rather vague, my dear," Annette put in._

"_I'd like to do something completely and utterly absurd! Something wild and unpredictable!" Cecily spoke with increasing energy and Annette began to lean away from her._

"_What on earth are you speaking about?"_

"_Something that would only happen in a novel...an adventure novel! Something clandestine and…dangerous!"_

"_Cecily, darling, I think you've been in the sun too long. Perhaps we should retire to the lounge. I'm sure the men are returned from their ride." Annette leapt to her feet and impatiently shifted about until Cecily reluctantly stood to join her. The blonde hurried toward the inn with remarkable speed, but her friend lagged behind. _

_Pip and Que waited long enough to here Cecily whisper, "I am sure the Mlles. Leroux would understand. They seem to have secrets. I wish I could share in them."….._

Leaning against the window frame, Gerry paused in thoughtful concentration. The stable hands grew bored and began to fall asleep when the Phantom roused himself from his contemplation and dismissed them, before slamming the window shut.

Que shook his ruffled brown head, "Crazy Frenchmen!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gerry skulked into the lounge with panther-like grace. His turquoise eyes scanned the room and came to rest on Cecily Cheney.

"Time for Plan B," he muttered as he glided towards her. The young heiress was reclining in a chair beside the window over looking the seashore. Her coal black hair was only tied back by a lilac ribbon that matched the trim on her periwinkle gown. The lazy droop of the sleeves and lace lent an elegant sadness to the listlessness of her position.

"Good afternoon, Mlle. Cheney."

"_EEK!" _The girl started at the low, husky voice that severed her daydreams. Whirling about in her seat, Cecily looked up into the half-masked, half-drop-dead-sexy-gorgeous-drool-faint-squee face that belonged to the mysterious M. Gerard. She blinked at him in awe.

"I hope I will not seem too forward, but I was wondering if I might persuade you to accompany me on a short walk about the grounds," Gerry purred silkily.

Everyone in the room turned to stare at the unusual couple. Being female, Cecily was acutely aware of the fact that she was igniting the bitter jealousy of every other woman present. With smug arrogance, she accepted Gerry's offered arm, momentarily losing her cool when she felt the solid muscle beneath the coat and shirt sleeves.

Leaving a wake of excited gossiping, the two swept out of the room and out the front door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mademoiselle, I hope you will not think me too impertinent, but I must confess that I have something of great importance to communicate to you. Something which will seem completely and utterly absurd," Gerry said as soon they were beyond the hearing of anyone.

Cecily flushed and stammered in reply, "Oh, I'm sure nothing you can say will be too shocking, M. Gerard." She was flustered, to say the least, and her mind took flight on every agreeable fancy.

"Very well. By your leave then, I have a rather awkward and wild proposition to make. But it must be proceeded by a rather long and tragic tale."

Cecily nodded. Her suspense was making her terribly wretched. Gerry motioned to a shaded bench along the lane and they sat as he told her of the sad story of the Phantom of the Opera. At the end of his narrative, he was forced to provide Cecily with his handkerchief for she had burst into tears. Fortunately, for Gerry's plans, Mlle. Cheney turned out to be exactly the sort of person moved to excessive emotion by stories of tragedy and misfortune.

"I-I had not imagined that Mlle. Daaé and the Vicomte de Changy were so mixed up as all that," she managed to choke out.

Gerry nodded solemnly.

"But who was the unfortunate Erik? Is he truly dead?"

Gerry stared at the girl in shock, "Surely you must have guessed it by now, Mlle. Cheney! M. Leroux is Erik!"

Cecily thought about this for a moment. M. Leroux _did _wear a mask, then again so did M. Gerard.

Cecily glared at the handsome Scot, "Are you sure it is not _you _yourself?"

"Ah, well, that shall be explained in due course. But that story I told you is only what _will _happen, if Christine Daaé is allowed to continue with her plans, which are to use Erik's tutoring and clout with the opera managers to gain her own fame and to marry the Vicomte for his money and title."

"How horrid! But what have you to do with any of this and why did you choose to confide in me?"

"Well, this is where things become truly wild and strange, as if Erik's story were not strange enough on its own. You see, I am a sort incarnation of Erik, designed for a retelling of the story. Does that make sense?"

Cecily nodded dumbly. She could have hardly believed any of it had she not been of a disposition that encouraged such outrageous fancies, and had the speaker been anyone other than the silky voiced Phantom. She found herself willing to believe anything he told her.

The Gerry continued, "Anna and Brooke are not what they seem either. They have secrets of their own."

"I thought as much!" Cecily exclaimed. She leaned in eagerly.

"They are, perhaps, the strangest of us all. They are cousins who were transported to Erik's home by an electrical current from their own home in the year 2005 A.D."

"What!"

"Yes, they are time-travelers and are of no relation to Erik whatsoever."

"That is most interesting. So that was why they would not say where they lived in Paris. I imagine they have never been out of the Opera House except to come here. Is it one of them you had in mind to distract Erik from Christine?"

"Yes, but more than distract. I mean for Anna and Erik to be married at some point. They are well suited for one another. Meanwhile, Brooke is intended for the Vicomte."

Cecily nodded her agreement to all of this. She was feeling quite excited. "Then your part in all of this is to play matchmaker then? I must say you have a very peculiar way of going about the business for we have all seen you and the Mlles. Leroux, or whoever they really are, everywhere together and behaving most intimately!"

Gerry smirked, "Yes, Erik needs jealousy to strip the blinders from his eyes. That is the purpose for my conduct."

Cecily giggled knowingly. "What then is your point in telling me?"

Here Gerry turned to clasp Cecily's hands and look most intently into her eyes. If only he had displayed such behavior earlier in their conversation, then Cecily might have felt certain that he meant to make a proposal for an elopement, but no such luck.

"My dear, Mlle. Cheney, I have only a short time left here and I am afraid that despite my efforts, things will return to normal once everyone has returned to Paris and life at the Opera House. That is where you come in."

The girl's grey eyes widen considerably. She could hardly have appeared less shocked than if Gerry had really been making the imagined proposal.

Gerry rushed on, "I am asking you to intervene in the matter. The girls, Anna and Brooke, have become close friends with you and I know that they will be sad to be confined to the cellars and shadows when they return. Of course, they will never admit that to Erik, both of them care too deeply for him to ever think of hurting him.

"Their state of affairs will prevent Brooke from interacting with the Vicomte. You will prove most useful there. If you can endeavor to bring Brooke and Raoul together by any social outings it would help their situation. I am sure he only wants a little encouragement to begin to steer his affections in that more deserving direction."

Cecily blinked, "You want _me _to play matchmaker for Brooke and the Vicomte?"

"Precisely."

"But how should I go about it without revealing that I know about Erik, the Phantom and their secrets? How shall I even contact them?"

"You will have help. There are people within the Opera House who already know of Erika and would gladly see Christine defeated. I shall provide you with all the necessary information, should you choose to accept this challenge."

Cecily sat in thoughtful silence before venturing a question, "But what of Erik and Anna? Who will help them?"

"I confess that I do not know. If Raoul were to settle on Brooke I cannot say whether or not Christine would then be willing to look past Erik's unfortunate face and marry him instead, as a last resort."

"Do Anna and Brooke know of his deformity?"

"Yes. They look him in the face everyday without batting an eyelash. More than once have I seen Anna _gaze _at him with the fondest affection."

"How could he not notice it himself?"

Gerry gave a huff of disgust and dropped Cecily's hands in a gesture of frustration, "I do not know. He cannot conceive the idea that any woman could love him of her own accord, without tricks or deceit or force."

"For such an amazing genius, he certainly is narrow-minded," Cecily stated warmly.

"Indeed! Well, Mademoiselle, you have yet to make me an answer. It is entirely your choice. You may say 'yes' or 'no.' I only wished to make sure that someone would be watching over the case in my place." Gerry regarded Cecily with a stern gaze, his turquoise eyes at once grave and pleading.

"What made you choose me?"

"Because you desired the wild and unpredictable. The clandestine and dangerous," his voice dropped low as he threw her own words back at her. Cecily was stunned into silence and stillness. How could he have possibly known those to be her secret desires? She had certainly wished for something like this, but now that she was presented for an opportunity to live as her favorite fictional heroines did, she was not sure if she wanted to accept it.

"And what if I say no? How can you be sure that I will not betray your confidence and turn in the Opera Ghost?" she asked with a mixture of playfulness and seriousness.

Gerry smiled at her thinly veiled threat. "Oh, I have assurances from the powers that be that should you attempt the expose Erik and the girls in any way, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur."

Cecily swallowed hard and stowed her pride.

"Well, Mademoiselle? Shall you accept?"

_It is all I have ever dreamed of! Why shouldn't I accept? It will hardly matter in any social sense. I have fortune enough to be able to be independent of anyone. What fun! What adventure! _Cecily's grey eyes hardened with resolution. Sitting up straight, her face set as grimly as a prisoner awaiting the gallows, she nodded her ascent.

Gerry grinned in satisfaction, "Excellent. Now then…


	34. In Which Blueberries Are Very Useful

Disclaimer: I do not anything to do with POTO.

Okay! Sorry, it took a while, but I hope this was worth the wait. I hate to take Gerry away from you all, but he will only be in the way if he returns to Paris with the phamily. To make up for it, I shall answer that burning question: _Who gets the Gerry?_

**Angel Music no.24601: **Sorry, darling, there are prior claims on the Gerry. Which is your favorite _Les Mis _song?

**Gevaisa: **I'm glad you enjoy it so much.

**LenisVox: **HAHA! Your review was hilarious. Yeah, four in the morning does something to you. But, EEK! Misty glares at Erik, "Erik, darling, I had no idea you swung for the other team." (Erik waves punjab)

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **You know, it's rather funny. At one point people were actually sending Gerry death threats for taking Anna away from Erik, now he's quite the Mr. Popularity. Yes, I'm afraid he must go, he just wouldn't fit the plot (whatever the plot is) when they return to Paris.

**Tian Sirki: **I did get your email, but my email service is stupid. It decided to boycott all outgoing messages so that I could receive mail, but not send it. (Kicks email) But tis all better and I think my response was sent to you. Maybe…? Let me know!

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **Ah, I am sorry if I neglected you in my review replies. Please don't take it personally, it's just absent-mindedness. But, yeah! Jack Sparrow—excuse me—_Captain _Jack Sparrow is my hero. And thank you for the muffins.

**Solecito: **No, sadly, you did not misinterpret that. Gerry is leaving. I hate to do it, but tis necessary. Don't worry, he'll be going to a better place. I do have an account on phantom dot com (is that what you meant?), under Misty Breyer (creative I know). But I only signed on to tracked down the person who was copying and pasting my story without my permission (shakes fist) I never go on it though. But _Phantom Companions _has a ways to go.

**Pleading Eyes: **I have no idea why, but your review amused me so much. Hee! Yes, the Girys are most definitely on the list of conspirators. (Cecily curtsies to reviewer) She appreciates your notice. And since you paid her a compliment she'll let you know that she is hiring the hobbits to be her servants. So, yes, they will be in Paris.

**Nameless Waif: **I'm evil, I know. (wicked grin) Oh, good, English final did not suffer. My conscious is clear. Yes, it is necessary to the duration of this phic that Raoul and Erik remain as dense as possible for as long as possible. However, not every chapter will be consumed with angst and frustration. There's gonna be more randomness and more characters in Paris.

**SimplyElymas: **Isn't this little army of conspirators a wonderful group? I luv them all (squishes conspirators)

**ShaShiSar221: **Anna and Erik are gonna have problems. Oh, the melodrama!

**Marianne Brandon: **Wow, loved your review. No, they won't be returning to 2005. That would just suck. Isn't it sad that I take it as a compliment to be called a _psychotic_ Erik and Gerry fan? Ah, but tis so true.

**aragornnme: **Oh, it's a blast to write this. Christine definitely has some trouble coming her way. MWHAHA!

**enigmatic mystery: **Erik regards cackling Authoress…turns to reviewer: "Not sure it was a good idea to give her permission to be evil."

**His Mask: **Thank you! Uniqueness is one of the highest compliments a writer can receive.

**Chapter dedication **for **Phantress **for contributing to the idea of the blueberries!

Okay, here we go w/ the chappie!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

IN WHICH BLUEBERRIES ARE VERY USEFUL

"Well, doctor? Is it serious?" Mme. de Pouf asked, her plump body squeezing close to the doctor as he shut the door to his patient's room.

He shook his grave head, "No, it is nothing that will not heal within a few days, but I'm afraid that Mlle. Daaé must not leave her room for at least four days together. Her stomach and head will not stand too much exertion."

The doctor and the landlady walked quietly down the hall, aware that curious eyes watched them from every door. They descended the stairs and Mme. de Pouf followed him to his horse, scurrying to keep up with his long strides.

"But what could have caused such a violent illness, monsieur? She was perfectly well last night," the lady asked.

The doctor shrugged as he climbed onto his steed, "I would attribute it to an allergic reaction to something she ate. That seems the most likely source. Good day, Madame."

The doctor tipped his hat to her and then spurred his horse down the lane, which led back to town.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back up the stairs, Christine was beside herself with alternating stomach pains and angry outbursts. She tossed about in her bed, groaning in agony one moment and loudly cursing the next.

"If I've told them once, I've told them a THOUSAND times! I cannot eat blueberries!" she hollered.

Raoul and her friends, Mlles. Duff and Lohan, did their best to calm her.

"Now, now, Christine, you mustn't work yourself up like this. It will only make you feel worse," Raoul repeated tiredly as he patted her hand. It was no good, but he could think of nothing else to do or say. Lizette breathed out a bit of advice as she idly poked the offensive fruit salad, discarded on the coffee table.

"What a pity this should happen on the eve of the grand ball!" Hilaire put in from her post at the foot of the bed. Raoul groaned at the girl's stupidity. That had to have been the _least _helpful thing to say.

Likewise, Christine glared at her. The singer was beginning to feel that this had to be the worst few weeks of her life. First, the exploding tarantulas, then the crazy fireworks, then that humiliating defeat at singing in the lounge after supper, and now she was too sick to go to the ball. It certainly made being kidnapped by an obsessive, homicidal maniac look like a picnic.

Even if she had the strength to attend the ball, Christine knew it was better to remain abed. The reaction to the blueberries had caused her cheeks to swell so that she looked as though she had just had all four wisdom teeth pulled. Angry, itching bumps peppered her neck, chest, and arms and her bulbous eyes were nearly glued shut by clumpy, green eye boogers. (Ew.) She hated to have Raoul see her like this, but better to have him at her bedside than elsewhere. Knowing Erik, he'd probably find a way to console her as well. In the mean time, she felt like having a good cry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Quite a shame about Mlle. Daaé. Is it not?" Gerry commented casually as he and Erik readied themselves for the ball.

"Yes. If I did not feel obliged to escort Anna to the ball tonight I would be with her. I cannot imagine what brought on such a terrible illness," Erik growled irritably. In his concern for the well-being of his angel, the trapdoor lover could hardly tie his cravat. Gerry paid it no mind. He trusted that Erik would forget Christine some time that night, if only for a few hours.

Though it is no surprise to anyone reading this (or it _shouldn't _be), the Gerry cut quite a handsome figure in his signature evening clothes. Erik eyed him reproachfully.

"If you are so concerned for Christine, then why do you not go to her and leave Anna for the night?" Gerry asked, grinning slyly to himself. He stood behind Erik, observing him in the mirror, as the original Opera Ghost continued to struggle with his cravat.

Erik stared at the imposter in the mirror with a mixture of befuddlement and horror, "I cannot disappoint Anna."

"Why not? You love Christine more than the air you breathe. Is that not so?"

"Well, yes….it is, but I care for the cousins as well. They are my friends and I promised her."

"But you were never one to keep promises, Erik."

Erik whirled around to glare daggers at the irritating interrogator. "Are you _trying _to get me to abandon Anna for the evening?"

"No, simply trying to probe the inner thoughts and turmoil of the great and elusive Phantom of the Opera," Gerry replied, totally unphased by Erik's anger.

"In that case, why don't you settle for probing your own thoughts and leave me in peace!" With that, the ruffled Erik stormed out of the bedroom, to wait in the sitting room.

Gerry laughed, "I love my job."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna popped the last blueberries into her mouth before returning to the vanity table where Brooke was wrestling with her mangy brown hair.

"Don't let those berries stain your clothes, Anna," Brooke said. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she navigated a curly lock into place and set it with a pin.

"That was the last of them. Do you want some help?"

Brooke sighed in exasperation, her arms dropping to her sides like dead weights. "Yes. If you don't mind."

Anna hummed "Deck the Halls" as she pinned back the rest of Brooke's hair.

"Heavens! Our hair has gotten long," the redhead commented.

"I know! I could spike it when we first arrived. Anna, do you think either Erik or Raoul will stay behind tonight in favor of keeping Christine company?"

"No. Erik promised me he would go."

"What about Raoul?"

"Cecily told me he still planned on going. There. That's the last one. It looks fantastic, Brooke."

Brooke stood and they both moved to the bed where their ball gowns lay waiting.

Brooke frowned as she pulled on her dress, "Cecily Cheney? Hasn't she been hanging around Gerry a lot these last few days?"

"Yes."

"How does _she _know anything about Raoul?"

Anna laughed at her cousin's vicious jealousy, "Relax, Brooke! She's a friend of his, too. She simply asked him if he intended to go or not and he said he would be there."

Brooke grumbled something incoherent as she laced up the back of Anna's dress. When they switched positions, Brooke found herself staring at their trunks, already packed for the train ride back to Paris.

"I'm going to miss everybody. Are you?" Brooke said.

Anna gazed past her friend's shoulders, at the trunks and the lonely Poppins Bag. "Yeah, but it'll be nice to get back home."

Brooke began giggling uncontrollably.

Anna quirked an eyebrow at her. "What's so funny?"

"Can you believe we actually think of the Phantom's lair…Erik's secret batcave, as home?" Brooke snorted.

Anna blinked for a moment. "That is so weird."

"_Are you two finished yet?" _an angry voice hollered from beyond the door.

"Oh, speak of the Phantom." The girls scurried to complete their ensembles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik felt like punjabbing someone. That someone was the imposter, who had followed him into the sitting room for the purpose of continuing to torment Erik with disturbing questions. The Opera Ghost curled up in his favorite chair, twitching occasionally.

"Are you _sure _you don't want to stay behind?"

"_SHUT UP!" _Erik screamed, launching his willowy body from its fetal position, lanky arms outstretched to strangle the Gerry. The ice-cold skeletal fingers were a mere whisper away from their target when the rush of silk skirts stayed them. Erik halted in his tracks and slowly turned to face the girls.

Anna and Brooke swept into the room with all the elegance of real Victorian aristocrats. They did not shuffle awkwardly or skip with girly glee, but rather, they carried their bodies with smooth, effortless grace. The cousins were having what all females know to be an "I-look-like-a-million-bucks-and-everybody-knows-it" night. It showed in their easy confidence as they sauntered up to their escorts.

Erik noted with his usual level of excessive pride that his designs for their ball gowns had worked their magic and transformed the frumpy college women into living Cinderellas. Only he knew all the delicate intricacies that made the dresses truly unique. Although, both followed the typical fashion of the season, he had dictated such particulars, like the exact slope of the neckline or the precise measurements of the waists that would have made the gowns appear absolutely wretched on any other women. Additionally, Erik had seen to it that the heaps of fabric, lace, and ribbon drawn over the bustles and trailing to the floor were not decorated in the usual vulgar extravagance, but instead, with exquisite finesse.

The most notable difference between the gowns was the colors. Brooke's dress was a deep forest green, accented by lighter shades on the trim of the sleeves and hem and the intricate bundle piled atop the bustle. Anna's dress was rose pink and the decorations varied from coral to salmon; the bodice and apron front shone with the glimmer of a thousand seed pearls. They both wore their diamond chokers about their throats.

"Well, what do you think?" Anna asked as she approached Erik. Unfortunately, the Opera Ghost knew nothing about women (although this could be attributed to his being male and have nothing to do with his lifestyle), so he did not recognize the hidden demand for praise and adoration.

"I think I have flawless tastes," Erik said frankly, referring to the gowns. Although she knew he didn't mean any harm, Anna decided to look reproachful and hurt in an effort to squeeze out a compliment to her. Erik only looked genuinely puzzled in return.

The Gerry groaned. _That idiot! Why millions of girls find him so alluring is beyond me. _The handsome Phantom took the opportunity of passing a few hints to his hapless counterpart. He offered an arm to Brooke and purred a few flattering compliments about her appearance and swept her out the door.

Erik took the hint. Hesitatingly, he held out his elbow to Anna. He suddenly felt very nervous, like a teenage boy picking up his date, only to find her lovelier than he imagined possible and feeling intimidated by that loveliness. An unlucky pang of panic made him compare his own hideousness with her beauty. All at once, he feared she would betray a hidden disgust when she touched him.

With a quiet smile, Anna slipped one arm around his and gripped his elbow with her other hand. She pressed close to him and heard his slight gasp of shock.

When at last he found his voice again, he gently whispered, "You are exquisite, my dear. A perfect rose." Anna's smile widened with satisfaction.

"Thank you. Shall we then?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The annual summer ball was held in the town assembly rooms and it was hosted by the de Poufs. Each year the proprietors of the Le Snob hotel petitioned to host the ball, but nobody who wanted to enjoy himself or herself would ever permit it to happen. The event was to be without any awkwardness or unnecessary ceremony. Dinner and refreshments were centered in a side room while the main hall served as the ballroom. A small orchestra sat upon a dais in one corner.

The phamily met with the girls' acquaintances in the ballroom. The girls squealed and exclaimed over each other's gowns. Annette wore a gown of smoky lavender and Cecily was dressed in powder blue. They were both beautiful, but Brooke and Anna were easily the belles of the ball.

Everyone paired off for the first dance. Gerry led Brooke onto the dance floor, encircling her slimed waist with one strong arm. The brunette returned his smile with a distracted grin as her green eyes darted about the crowded room. He was not put off by her lack of inattention, but instead, hoped that her search for the Vicomte de Changy would soon be rewarded.

To Anna's extreme disappointment, Erik got cold feet as soon as she began to move to the dance floor. He hung back, his blue eyes wide with fear, his tall, lean body rigid. His heart told him his fears were irrational, but his mind, so warped by years of twisted living, screamed at him to hide from the bright lights and smiling faces.

"What is wrong?" the girl hissed as she tugged at his arm.

Erik shook her off and replied icily, "I am not exactly accustomed to dancing in public, Mademoiselle."

"But, Erik, you promised me!"

"I promised I would escort you, not dance with you." He did not know what to make of the look on her face. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was a look of absolute heartbreak.

"You had no qualms at the masquerade!" she cried.

"That was because _everybody _was wearing a mask then," he snarled. Trying to soothe her hurt feelings, he quickly added, "You have no shortage of admirers here, my dear. You will not want for dance partners. If you need me, I shall be in the shadows. As always."

With that he was gone from her side, like a wisp of candle smoke caught by a breeze. Anna felt horridly empty and cold. Anger boiled inside of her and she had to bite her tongue to keep from cursing and screaming out her frustration. All she had wanted that evening was not to be drooled over by every ordinary buffoon in the room, but to be admired by and held in the arms of the Phantom of the Opera. Tears threatened to overwhelm her and she gripped her arms in an effort to keep her composure. She saw a few of her friends glance anxiously in her direction. Her face flushed and she fixed her eyes on some spot on the floor. Now, on top of everything else, she was humiliated.

It was Raoul who came to her rescue. The Vicomte came in too late to claim Brooke for the first dance, but on seeing her 'sister' standing alone, he applied to her instead.

"You did not come unattended, I trust," Raoul inquired as they waltzed together.

"No, my brother escorted me, but he is not one for dancing much," she spit out bitterly. She hoped Erik was watching. It seemed terribly appropriate that the man who saved her from the dreaded embarrassment of becoming a wallflower should happen to be Erik's arch nemesis.

Raoul and his redheaded companion carried on a very halting conversation as they danced. Both were consumed with thoughts of others. Anna, of course, thought of Erik, angry and sad by turns. Raoul was watching Brooke dance with Gerry.

_My God, she looks gorgeous tonight, _he thought. He fancied that deep green suited her so well because of her love of nature and animals, which he shared. He imagined that the hues of her gown brought out the color in her eyes so that they shone like emeralds. Her frequent glances in his direction did not escape his notice. It encouraged him.

As soon as the dance ended, Raoul made Anna a quick bow and hastened to claim Brooke for the next two dances. For a moment it seemed as though he would be unsuccessful, for as he moved toward her, he saw Dominic Cheney just an arm's length away from the green-clad beauty. Dominic was detracted from his aim, which _was _to ask Brooke for the next dance, when Cecily called him over to her, in a panicked voice. She smiled slyly as she watched the Vicomte claim his lady.

Gerry took Raoul's place with Anna. Even the Gerry could do nothing to allay her disappointment. Sure he was…well, _Gerry, _but he was not _Erik_. She was almost unreasonable enough to be cross with him for it.

"Where did Erik go?" asked the half-masked Phantom, his voice low and grave.

"Holing himself up in the shadows like a spider," she snapped. Her lip quivered. "Gerry, you're a Phantom. What can I do to make him…"

She choked on her next words.

"Make him what?" Gerry said, gently encouraging.

"Make him love me." As she whispered her answer, the reality of what she said hit Anna so hard that she might have collapsed if Gerry did not support her. She wanted Erik to love her. Why? Because she loved him in spite of everything, his face, his past, his present…she didn't care.

Gerry cut through her thoughts, "I cannot give you a formulaic answer, Anna. Erik is a complicated person, but I imagine this might be one of the reasons you love him."

Anna nodded and he continued.

"You know what Leroux said of him, _He had a heart that could have held the empire of the earth. _Erik has an enormous capacity to love, but the harshness of his life, thus far, has hardened him and blinded him. His has many flaws to overcome: his pride and his cowardice being the principle ones. I suggest you love him fiercely."

Anna nodded again. Her self-revelation left her numb and speechless. The music slowed and the dance came to an end. As the rest of the crowd shifted around them, Gerry titled her face toward his.

Gazing into her eyes with a great tenderness, he whispered, "Do not despair. You deserve his love. He will come to see that he has bestowed it on very unworthy ground, but you must not give up on him. Everyone else has, but _you_ must not."

Anna did not even nod this time, yet Gerry knew she understood and took his command to heart. A shadow of a smile flickered across his face and then he left her. Much to her annoyance, she was immediately besieged by a throng of young men eager to dance with her. She wished the jabbering idiots would evaporate on the spot. She wanted to be alone with her new thoughts, but the ballroom was hardly the place for quiet contemplation, so she pasted on a phony smile and accepted the offer of the nearest gentleman.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik watched all from a secluded alcove near the orchestra. Raoul managed to keep Brooke to himself for most of the night, though he was forced to part with her once or twice. The Opera Ghost would have found this behavior most intriguing had he not been more interested in what befell his sulky raven.

Anna whirled about the room with man after man. It was obvious to Erik that she took no pleasure in any of them, not even Gerry. He recognized the irritability in the set of her jaw and the jerky movements of her arms. It pleased him that no partner could satisfy her, but at the same time he felt profoundly ashamed for jilting her so inconsiderately. She should have been smiling coyly, soaking up flattery with a charming giggle, and glorying in the attention her own beauty gained her. It was his fault that she was reduced to a glum, slump-shouldered sourpuss. Yet Erik could not comprehend why his company meant so much to her.

Towards the end of the night, he began to notice that Jacques Cheney, who obviously had had one too many sips from the punch bowl, pursued her aggressively. The clumsy idiot stumbled after Anna each time a new dance began, but she managed to secure a new partner before he could reach her. Alas, she could not escape him forever. Jacques finally succeeded in leading her about the dance floor at the same time his twin brother Dominic was dancing with Brooke.

Both Erik and Raoul were considerably nettled. Gerry and Cecily exchanged knowing glances.

Of the two oafish brothers, Jacques was the least intoxicated. Though steady enough on his feet, he leered at Anna, his pale, watery eyes focusing on regions of her body other than her face. The girl flushed in indignation. She felt positively violated. Erik, likewise, saw where Jacques' eyes fell. He also saw the man's hand slide lecherously low on Anna's hip, gripping her tightly and pulling her in so that her body was pressed against his. She whipped her head to the side to avoid his foul breath. A low growl issued from the Phantom's malformed mouth. He was about to throw fear and caution to the wind and storm to her rescue when a loud commotion from the opposite end of the room drew everyone's attention.

Anna took the opportunity to shove Jacques away and darted forward to see what had caused such a stir. She was aware that he followed her, but she forgot about her pursuer when the crowd parted to reveal a pain-ridden Brooke crumpled on the floor.

"Brooke!" Anna cried, rushing to her cousin's side. "What happened?"

"Jusssst a lil tumble," Dominic slurred and hiccupped. He stood over them, swaying uncertainly. Raoul shouldered him to the side and bent to examine Brooke's swollen left ankle.

The brunette leaned her upper body against her cousin, gripping Anna's hand as the Vicomte and few ladies felt the tender appendage.

"We were dancing—if you could call it that—when M. Cheney caused me to stumble and I twisted my ankle," Brooke groaned through gritted teeth. Anna glared at the offending drunk as though she could fry him like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.

Raoul leaned towards the girls, saying, "It is not broken, but you'll not be able to put pressure on it for a while."

"Lemme sssee!" Dominic gurgled, slumping forward to grasp the ankle. Brooke shrieked in pain and mulishly kicked him with her right foot. The surrounding crowd gasped and hissed in shock at his stupidity. Raoul grabbed two fistfuls of Dominic's lapels and hauled him to his feet.

Shoving him away from Brooke, the Vicomte snarled, "Get him out of here and back to the inn." A few broad-shouldered men obliged. No one dared to oppose the vicious young nobleman as he stood over the injured girl and her cousin as protectively as a guard dog.

Anna whispered in her cousin's ear, "I'll get Erik to call our carriage."

"No, no, I don't want to ruin your night. Gerry can take me home," Brooke replied.

Anna was about to remark that she had no desire to stay whatsoever and to thank her cousin for having the decency to cut her miserable night short, when Raoul jumped forward with an eager offer.

"Mlle. Anna, I have my horse with me. I could escort Mlle. Brooke home, if that would help you."

Brooke's face lit up like a firefly. Anna nodded her consent. She and Gerry helped Brooke to her feet as Raoul went away to order his horse brought to the door. The crowd dispersed, taking up their former positions on the dance floor as the music began again. Raoul returned in good time and he and Gerry led Brooke away, leaving Anna alone once more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Brooke did not realize how flushed she was until she felt the cool of the night seeping into her skin, like water into desert sand. She thought it would be lovely to freeze into an ice sculpture or melt into a forest stream. The throbbing in her ankle died down, although an occasional jostle from Raoul's horse sent waves of pain radiating up her leg.

The grey, leggy stallion was a gentle, well-trained creature, plodding along behind its master through the deserted town streets. Raoul glanced over his shoulder to make sure Brooke hadn't fallen off. To his surprise and disappointment, she was not an accomplished rider. He frowned; thinking perhaps all her talk of horses had just been an unusually creative method of husband-hunting. This analysis was unfair to Brooke because, having grown up in late twentieth-century Montana, she had learned to ride astride a Western saddle, not side-saddle on an English one, thus she was having some difficulty in keeping a good seat. Raoul did not consider this option.

_Of course, it could be attributed to her pain and discomfort, _Raoul reasoned. That seemed a rational enough explanation so he shrugged the whole business aside. Brooke squirmed and gripped the saddle as her swollen foot bumped into the horse's flank when they turned down the path to the inn. She released a soft groan and trained her eyes on the Vicomte, in an effort to forget her pain.

His shoulders were of a pleasing expanse and shape and she enjoyed the way they moved beneath the fabric of his coat. His long legs swung forward with youthful ease. To be sure, he did not move as gracefully as Erik or Gerry, but there was a manly elegance to his gait. Raoul looked back again, Brooke blushed as he caught her staring at him and averted her eyes to the seashore.

"Oh! Look at the beach!" she cried, pointing eagerly. Raoul stopped the horse and turned in the direction she indicated. Indeed, the white sand glowed beneath the light an almost-full moon, fat and glorious as she approached the height of her beauty. Her radiance drowned out the light of the stars nearest her, but the rest of the sky looked to be on fire with starlight. The white caps of the waves glittered an eerie green as florescent microorganisms lit up in the moonlight.

All was silent save for the crashing of the waves, but in the distance Raoul and Brooke heard an inhuman wail.

"Did you hear that?" Raoul asked. Brooke nodded and tilted her head to listen. It came again and another call answered it.

Brooke broke into a gleeful giggle, "It's a pod of whales!"

Raoul relax into a nervous chuckle. They listened to the whales' songs for a moment more, before Raoul ventured a question: "Do you think humans will ever walk on the moon?"

"Oh, yes!" Brooke cried. He shot her a surprised glance. She bit her lip. _Oops._

"When, do you think?"

"Oh, not for another hundred years, I suppose."

"I wonder what it would be like to walk on the moon. It would probably be similar to earth."

"I don't know. Other planets and moons have different properties than ours."

Raoul now turned to gaze up into Brooke's face with a mixture of confusion, admiration, and bemusement. "May I tell you something?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"You are the most puzzling woman I have ever met."

"Um…thank you?"

Raoul laughed, "I mean that in the best sense possible."

Brooke smiled coyly, "Do you like puzzles, Raoul?"

"Very much so," he replied, smiling knowingly in return. He clucked at his horse and they began to move once again. As Brooke watched the Vicomte walk, she was suddenly struck by an overwhelming sensation of happiness that can only be described as the warm fuzzies. She smiled softly to herself. She would miss Raoul terribly when they returned to Paris.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I do not wish to dance with you again!" Anna snarled as she jerked away from Jacques Cheney.

"But it'sss the lassssst danth, Anna," he mumbled, still leering.

Heartily wishing Erik had not ordered dress measurements that left even the slightest mound of her chest visible, Anna growled and tried to worm farther from the horrid man. He reeked like rotten fruit, his hands were fat and clumsy, and his face looked as though it had been sat on. Jacques did not relent. He chased Anna across the room until he had her cornered. He discovered that he could leer and be just as vulgar by trapping her against a wall as he could while she dance with him.

Anna felt like bursting into tears. This was beyond a doubt the worst night of her life, thus far. The thought of Erik's cold absence weighed most heavily on her. Then, as if responding to her inner musings, an unmistakable voice sounded from behind the slimy drunkard.

"The last dance is _mine, _boy."

Jacques lumbered around to glare down at the obnoxious intruder, but found himself staring _up_ into a blank, black mask. Erik's eyes spoke all of their disgust and anger. Anna nearly screamed for joy as he brushed past the speechless Jacques and held out his long, elegant hand to her. She accepted it with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning.

Even as the girl stepped into his arms and began to waltz with him, Erik felt it was necessary to glare at Jacques for a moment or two longer, just in case the foolish buffoon did not already comprehend Erik's deep dislike for him. Anna relished the Phantom's possessive grip on her hand and waist. She felt her spirits rising to playfulness.

"I should have jilted you, you know. And I would have, but the alternative was just too repulsive," she remarked.

Erik turned his glare on her. "You might thank me for saving you from such an unpleasant encounter."

"Oh, really? Maybe _you _should apologize for leaving me to that pack of wolves to begin with!" Anna retorted hotly.

A guilty flicker in Erik's eyes told her he felt his misdeed, but he would not apologize. She decided to let the matter go…for now.

"Will you be happy to be home?" she asked, changing the subject.

Erik nodded, "Yes, but I am sorry that you and Brooke shall be forced to leave your new friends. Of course…" he paused uncertainly, "You do not have to return to the house on the lake."

Anna shushed him, "Erik, don't be silly. Our home is with you." Erik nodded.

"Is Brooke all right?"

"Yes, the Vicomte took her back to the inn."

She sensed an eyebrow arching beneath the mask as he replied, "Did he now? That is most interesting."

The dance was long, slow, and gentle. The music lulled the dancers into a sweet trance. Subconsciously, Erik pulled Anna a little closer. With the fingers that gripped one of her gloved hands, he felt her pulse quicken.

They did not talk for the rest of the dance. Anna glowed happily on the outside. On the inside, she contemplated her earlier discussion with Gerry. She admitted she longed for Erik to return the regard she held for him. She couldn't say why, but she felt this dance was the threshold, the moment when she not only became capable of loving Erik, but also _worthy _of _his _love. The thought prompted her to hold herself up with extra regality and to gaze into Erik's deep blue eyes with greater tenderness.

Gerry grinned as he waltzed with Cecily. His mission hadn't been a total flop. Although Cecily didn't know it, he had had a second purpose in being here. Not only was he to stir up romance, he was also to purge Brooke and Anna of their phangirliness. He had been the outlet that drained them of all the silly squeeness that made them like…us, dear readers.

"It's promising," Cecily commented, nodding in Anna and Erik's direction.

"Indeed it is. The night has not been a total waste then. In fact, I'd say those brothers of yours proved to be rather useful."

Cecily snorted derisively, "Good, then their existence is not completely pointless, as I once suspected."

"Cheer up, darling, you have a wonderful adventure ahead of you. You must look forward to it," Gerry admonished. Ever so slowly, he spun her round and danced towards the back door, which over looked a quiet rose garden. When they reached the door, the Gerry pulled away from his partner, and raising her hand to his lips, planted a kiss upon her knuckles.

"This is where I leave you," he whispered.

Cecily's grey eyes widened, "What, now! But how shall your absence be explained?"

"The phamily is used to this sort of thing. As for everyone else, I'm sure you'll think of something, dear Cecily. You are quite clever, you know." He winked one turquoise eye at her and slipped into the darkness beyond the threshold. Cecily sighed, she hated to see such a dazzling man go, but she remembered his words, and settled her thoughts upon her new position as overseer of matchmaking. Paris would not be so boring after all. With one last sigh, the black-haired girl turned away from the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Gerry slunk through the silent garden. Fireflies flickered here and there and beyond the last hedge of thorny bushes he could see his lady waiting. She stood near the rotten, moss-covered stonewall, dressed in silver. Her long brown hair spilled over one shoulder. Beneath the hood of her cloak, her amber eyes glowed mischievously.

"Hello, Misty, darling," Gerry purred, bending to kiss her out-stretched hand.

"Hello, Gerry, so good to see you," Misty replied.

"Is it finally time to go home?" Gerry asked.

"Yes, let's go home." Misty clicked her silver heels and the two vanished in a puff of glittering smoke.


	35. Poofs and Fops

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…but I just saw _Phantom _on stage in Arizona a week ago and _SQUUUUEEEEEEEEE! _OMG! (runs around in circles, chasing tail, bounces on the bed, falls down dead from sheer phantastic exhaustion) (stupid, dazed grin) I am so happy. We got to meet the cast and got autographs and pictures. A new guy was playing Raoul…I hate to say it…he was soooooooo uber-hot. The picture in the program did not do him justice. And Gary Mauer (aka Phantom) was so nice! And tall! Which is a good thing if you're playing Erik. Okay…I'll stop now.

**Nameless Waif: **Wow, that was one spastic review! But Erik is reminding me that since I myself am such a spaz, this is totally okay. Dear Cecily…she is an official snark.

**Savvy the Pennameless: **(huggles reviewer) I love you! And, yes, your vision was very close to reality…mwhaha…ha. You may most certainly have the hobbits for your willow tree, but only after the phic is over. And I shall be doing some research for our…ehem, (wary glance to the side) _plans._

**Erik'sDarkAngel2009: **Amazing how "random and retarded" can be considered a compliment in some cultures. Our little insane phandom being one of them. We are so weird…I love it.

**Silvermasque: **Hey, welcome to the phamily. Official Poppins Bags are at the sign in table. And we just got a new shipment of warrior fuzzy socks in Punjab red and Scorpion green. Don't worry about the nuttiness of Anna and Brooke; they are simply phans on a whole new level. But to take their nuttiness away would be like depriving myself of goldfish crackers and that just isn't done.

**Solecito: **(sweeps a bow with her silver cape) Thank you, dear reviewer, you could not have paid me a higher compliment. (dons Captain Hook hat) Oh, I think I could manage to get a few glomps in there for you. (winks)

**Music Angel no.24601: **Yes! "One Day More" rocks my world. I love your insightful comparison of Cosette and Christine. Erik is glaring at me, but I am not wavering in my opinion as I have a lightsaber and he does not. MWHAHA. Anywho. I rather prefer Eponine myself.

**Lenis Vox: **Chickens! I love chickens! I knew a rooster named Ivan the Terrible. He had a bad habit of crowing (or trying to crow) at ungodly hours of the morning. AAH! No crappy Star Wars lines! (slaps Qui-Gon).

**Erik's Girlfriend: **Remind me about Atalanta and Meleager again. I do love mythology, but I'm a bit rusty.

**tenshimerry: **So glad to have been a pick-me-up! Always happy to make someone smile.

**enigmatic mystery, India Pyro, xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **Misty is yours truly, darlings! (Points to Authoress's name tag.)

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **My current hair color is entirely beside the point.

**Tian Sirki: **Sorry about the email thing. I've have a weird computer situation for a while, but I can respond now so it should be coming to you shortly.

**Simply Elymas: **I always pictured Raoul and Erik suddenly deciding to ditch Christine and going out for a beer to discuss the possibility of cutting a record together. (In a totally NOT slash way).

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **It is most certainly NOT a bad thing to remain a phangirl…I myself am one and I thoroughly enjoy it. As for the source of my quirky phrases, it's in the blood. Oh, yeah! A party, I feel so loved!

**His Mask: **I beg you would not be offended, 'twas only meant as a light-hearted jest.

**aragornnme: **I am sorry the chapter did not meet your expectations, but I do appreciate the honesty, as much as it hurts to hear. But although the Gerry is gone, the hobbits are not.

**LiTTleLoTTe1991: **That is so what I had in mind when I wrote about the clicky silver heels! And you know that Dorothy's shoes are silver in the book, right?

**Mademoiselle Phantom: **Thank you so much for taking care of that issue with the plagiarism. In fact, I appreciate your efforts so much, I do believe Gerry owes you a kiss…a good kiss.

**phantomsangelofmusic: **I really enjoyed your review. It was encouraging. I do not know how many chapters are left. To be honest, I am kind of floundering with that as I am making this up as I go and I do not want to lose the element of insanity and fun. But I am glad you think I have improved. That's always good to hear.

**Sandra: **(Shrugs) I figured everyone else got a cameo, why shouldn't I? Besides, I am a selfish creature by nature, so I could not bear the thought of giving the Gerry up to anyone.

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **I cannot imagine this making sense to anyone besides us crazy phans, which is actually really cool because I love all of the inside jokes and all the little things that the phans pick up on that others wouldn't get.

**Phantress: **Thank you so much for the encouragement!

A/N: Okay, everyone, remember I said that they would return to the lair on chapter 36, this is chapter 35. One last random adventure in Perros, just for the heck of it.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

POOFS AND FOPS

Raoul felt a violent urge to climb the oak tree and sneak into Brooke's bedroom. Now before anyone assumes the worse, let it be known that his intentions were entirely honorable. He only wished to bid her farewell as it had finally occurred to him that he might not see her in Paris. Of course, he could have waited until morning to say goodbye at breakfast, but he was experiencing bouts of Romantic-Dashing Hero Syndrome (RDHS), so only a Romeo-esque rendezvous would suffice.

This being 1870, there were no alarm systems or dead locks to guard the window, so Raoul simply pushed the shutters and panes aside as he climbed into the dark room. His ears were immediately assaulted by grating snore. He grimaced. _That's not good. _

Creeping towards the bed, his only light was the moonbeams streaming through the window. The bed was a large four-poster affair, complete with curtains, which had been drawn back since it was still summer time and rather warm. Raoul thought he saw two bodies lying beneath the covers. He guessed the 'sisters' shared the apartment.

Bending over the closest figure, he gently pushed her shoulder and whispered, "Brooke?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna mumbled drowsily. Someone was shaking her and saying something. She cracked open one eye and saw the Vicomte's nose hovering a mere inch from her own.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" _The piercing shriek sent Raoul reeling back and jarred Brooke out of her sleep.

"My lord, Anna, what is it?" Brooke cried as her cousin fumbled with the lamp at her bed table. A soft pink glow erupted from the lamp, filling the room with a warm, dim haze and throwing sharp shadows against the walls. Brooke spied the Vicomte huddled behind the fainting couch, shivering like a scolded child.

"Raoul!"

But before he could explain himself, the door flew open and Erik—masked, robed, and armed—stormed into the room. His shadowed eyes traveled from the startled girls in their bed to the rumpled, guilty-looking Raoul in a matter of milliseconds. One can only imagine his conclusion. With a low, feral snarl he lunged at the nobleman, Punjab lasso at the ready.

The girls scrambled to their feet, standing on the bed, and shouting at the two men. Brooke clung to a post for support, as her ankle was still tender. Her face was distraught with fright as she helplessly watched Erik overpower Raoul.

"Stop it! Erik, don't hurt him! Anna, do something, please," the brunette turned desperately to her cousin.

Anna shook her bedraggled head, "No, last time I interfered I almost ended up a grease spot on the stage floor. _You _do something about it, since it's _your _Vicomte."

Brooke, despite her sore foot, began to contemplate launching herself at Erik, but she was spared the effort when a great cloud of glittering pink smoke inexplicably billowed up out of the middle of the bedroom floor with a mighty _POOF_! Erik and Raoul both yelped and leapt back.

"What the hell is that?" Raoul screamed, his chocolate brown hair standing on end.

Anna danced from foot to foot atop the bed and squealed, "It's the Wicked Witch of the West!"

No such luck. When the thick, cotton-candy colored cloud dispersed, there stood…

"The fop?" Brooke said. In unison, everyone's heads tilted to one side to regard the man standing where there had once been a pixie dust cloud. His face was identical to Patrick Wilson's; he was dressed in an open poet's shirt, his shoulder length blond hair immaculately groomed.

"Who are you?" Raoul asked, glaring at the intruder as if he himself were not also intruding. Paddy blinked at him with big, doey eyes.

Erik snorted, "That's you, Vicomte."

"I beg your pardon!" both Raouls cried together.

"That imposter can certainly not be the Vicomte de Changy. His hair is far too unkempt," Paddy insisted. Brooke threw a pillow at him.

"There cannot be two of me!" the 'real' Raoul said, though judging by the distressed tone of his voice, it seemed he was beginning to question that assertion.

Erik shook his masked head and sighed heavily as he began to try to explain Paddy's existence to a very frazzled Raoul. Paddy, who did not seem too disturbed by the matter, occupied himself with checking his hair for split ends.

The Poppins Bag, lying suspiciously close to scene of the crime, caught Anna's eye. Leaning down from her perch on the bed, she plucked it off the floor.

"Did you have something to do with _that?" _she gestured disdainfully at Paddy.

_No! Certainly not._

Brooke joined the interrogation, "But you brought Gerry here. How can you prove you didn't do this?"

_Hey, I claim my mistakes, all right? My mistakes, my farts—_

"Hold it!" Anna commanded. "You can fart?"

_Sure! Ever smell that musty, damp washrag kind of odor?_

"That's _you!" _

_Yup._

The cousins wrinkled their noses and Anna tossed the Bag into a corner.

_Ouch. Hey, everybody farts._

"I don't."

Everybody, including Erik and Raoul, turned to stare at Paddy. He regarded them in a frank, open manner as though there was nothing unusual about his statement or his very presence. Brooke and Anna were vaguely reminded of Legolas.

Erik growled, "Let's just get rid of him." Nobody made any objections as he circled behind the longhaired fop and wrapped the Punjab lasso about Paddy's throat. As Erik began to tighten the noose, Raoul scooted towards Brooke.

"I am sorry about all of this frightful business. I only meant to bid you farewell since I didn't know if we'd see each other in Paris," he explained softly.

Brooke smiled reassuringly, telling him that she appreciated the effort.

He added, "I hope your brother is not too angry. He looks awfully familiar, though I can't say if I've actually seen him around."

Anna smoothly interjected, "Oh, that's M. Gerard. He likes to sleep with a full mask on…just another of his eccentricities. Our brother is a _very _heavy sleeper. I doubt an earthquake could wake him."

"Oh, I understand," Raoul replied.

Erik was about to snap the Punjab lasso shut when Brooke commanded him to wait.

"What ever for?" Erik asked, annoyed.

"Watch the fop's face. Loosen the lasso, Erik."

He did so, albeit grudgingly. Paddy's face slackened into his normal, blank, expressionless visage.

"Okay, tighten it again."

Erik happily complied. Instantly, Paddy's countenance went from brown-paper bag to sweaty, snot-stained, and pathetic. The change was startling and disturbingly amusing. Everyone ooed and awed like spectators under a firework show. Erik was impressed enough to repeat the action several times, with increasing rapidity. The transformation never failed.

Poor Paddy. I almost feel sorry for him. He was eventually released when a rivulet of snot wound its way down his throat and over Erik's fingers.

"ACK!" Erik shrieked. He shoved Paddy away from him and frantically dried his hand on the back of a chair. The girls covered their indelicate snickers. Paddy gasped and choked and smoothed his hair. His shaking fingers combed through his shining locks. When they reached the tips, they uncovered a shocking development.

"Sweet _HAIRSPRAY!" _Paddy shrieked. He whirled to gape at Erik, his poor, glistening, foppy face wearing the injured look of a dog that has just been unceremoniously kicked out of the way. "You gave me…split _ENDS!"_

Erik was deeply grateful for his mask, which now shielded him from a spray of spit. He blinked once in surprise, impressed that the fop could rouse himself to such a passionate extent, and then he allowed the glitter in his blue eyes to deaden into a stoic gaze of unconcern.

Paddy staggered back a step or two, like a gunshot victim in a D.W. Griffith film. He turned his pleading eyes up to the girls, towering on the bed, and his counterpart, who was feeling extremely resentful that this pathetic mass of hair products had any remote connection to himself. Unable to find even a sympathetic companion in the Poppins Bag, Paddy curled up into a fluffy ball and died.

"You killed him," Raoul muttered to Erik.

"I did no such thing," Erik protested righteously, "It was the split ends."

"So that's how you kill a fop," Anna said. The whole thing, which was, really, sadly amused her and Brooke rather pitiful...almost…it could have been worse.

After contemplating the lifeless blob of hair and white shirt, Erik shook himself from his reverie and recalled that there was still one intruder left. The phantom's icy gaze slowly traveled to the Vicomte and fixed on his pale, handsome face. Raoul shivered—he felt that terribly creepy sensation that he was being watched. Guiltily, he brought his eyes up to Erik's.

"Um…I know how that must have seemed, but I can explain," he spluttered.

Erik chuckled, low and sinister, "Good. I'll give you a two second head start."

"Wha—?"

Raoul didn't have time to blink. Erik lunged at him with the Punjab lasso, moving in blur of black velvet. The Vicomte, however, was nimble and athletic. He wasted no time in scrambling for the door. Brooke wigged out, to say the least.

She knew the Vicomte was quick, but Erik was nearly superhuman. In a desperate attempt to give Raoul a fighting chase at escape, she shoved Anna off the bed and sent her crashing onto Erik. Raoul did not look back. The outer door slammed behind him and Brooke sank onto the bed with a sigh or relief.

Meanwhile, Anna and Erik were busy cursing and disentangling their limbs. Unfortunately, they were both so sore from the impact that neither had a chance to enjoy the position. Erik unfolded himself like a lawn chair and sprang to his feet, offering a hand to Anna, who was claiming to feel a little woozy.

"That's nice, Brooke. Sacrifice your best friend and cousin for a man," the redhead growled as Erik helped her to the bed.

"You'd do the same," Brooke remarked, glancing knowingly at Erik.

"Shut up."

"Now what to do with that fop," Erik reminded them. Apparently, chaos makes one forget about dead bodies lying on one's floor. But when they peered over Brooke's side of the bed, all they saw was a pile of empty clothes.

"OMG! He's been raptured!"

"He did that dead Jedi thing!"

"He's running around naked somewhere!"

"Ew."

"He's not _here _and that's what matters," Erik snapped, putting an end to the cousins' flustered tirade. He paused to regard them for a moment.

"Why was Raoul in here anyway? He didn't try to take advantage of you, did he?" Erik's voice dropped to a deadly hiss. Anna loved it when he did that.

"No!" Brooke exclaimed. "He wanted to say good bye to me."

"At two o'clock in the morning?" Erik said. Abruptly, Anna reached up and pried the mask off Erik's face. His countenance froze for a moment, one eyebrow still arched in serious doubt of Brooke's assertions.

"What did you do that for?"

"I wanted to prove to myself that you were, in fact arching an eyebrow at Brooke," Anna said simply. Erik shook his head at her. He did not understand why the cousins insisted on seeing his hideous face. It puzzled him exceedingly, but he had grown comfortable with the idea.

"Anyway," he turned back to Brooke. "At two o'clock in the morning, by climbing through a bedroom window?"

"Er…yes?" Brooke grinned sheepishly, like a teenager trying to explain a hickie to her father.

"Are you sure he meant to get this room and not Christine's?"

Brooke squirmed and glowered at the phantom, "I'm sure! He was afraid we wouldn't meet again in Paris."

"Well, he hangs around the Opera House often enough. I'm sure if you just pop out of the shadows every now and then, he'll ask you to supper some night," Anna said. She meant it as a joke, but when she looked at her companions, she saw both in sunk in thoughtful contemplation. Suddenly, she could see the cogs in Erik's brain turning in a most distressing direction as he regarded Brooke with new interest.

If Brooke could snag the Vicomte for herself then who would be left for Christine to turn to? Anna blanched at the thought. She gripped the mask in her hands. She would _not _lose Erik. Perhaps, Brooke had been more right than she knew when she said Anna "would do the same."


	36. To the Batcave

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO…sadly.

Sorry, no review replies. I just had to get this up before I ran off to work. I hope you'll forgive me since I love you all and I think you are the best readership in the whole phandom. And welcome to all new comers!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TO THE BATCAVE

The next morning went by in a whirl of activity. Most of the vacationers were retuning to Paris for the start of the fall season. The scene in the parlor of the Seaside Inn was one of reluctant chaos. Trunks were being hauled out to waiting carriages, breakfast was being had in the dining room, and good byes were being exchanged with promises of visits in the city.

Annette warmly embraced Cecily. The two had grown rather fond of each other, despite their differences of dispositions.

Cecily smiled weakly as she drew back from the hug, "No need to ask what you will be occupied with in Paris." She glanced over the taller woman's shoulder at Max, who was shaking hands with the Vicomte de Changy and the Cheney brothers.

Annette blushed, "Yes, wedding plans shall be taking up a good part of my days, though the event itself will not take place till March. What about you, dear Cecily?"

"I thought I might become a patroness at the Paris Opera," Cecily replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Annette's clear blue eyes widened in surprise, "Indeed! What possessed you to do that?"

"I have an interest in the arts and the opera seemed as good a place as any. The Vicomte is a patron there and he appears to enjoy it."

Annette arched an eyebrow but did not offer any other reply.

Cecily continued, "I control my fortune and the family estate, so I can decide where our money goes without consulting anyone."

"That is a most unusual arrangement."

"Yes, but my father was not stupid enough to leave all in the hands of my brothers."

"Indeed!" Annette laughed. "But I hear you are actually taking some new servants back to the city."

"Yes, I bought M. de Pouf's stable hands off of him. I need a new valet."

"Then why hire both?"

"They seem quite inseparable. Poor things come all the way from Scotland. I see no reason to deprive them of each other in a foreign land."

The girls were interrupted when the Cheney's carriage was announced. After one last embrace, Cecily hurried away to herd her brothers and valets into the coach.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine's departure was less warm than Cecily's. Shockingly, Mlle. Lohan and Mlle. Duff were quite the turncoats. Christine was, after all, only an orphaned ballet rat who had enjoyed a brief moment in the spotlight and who had been hounded by scandal ever since. Besides, bad things seemed to plague the singer wherever she went.

"Shall I see you in Paris?" Christine mumbled, her cheeks still swollen.

Lizette huffed impatiently, "Not likely, I'll have quite a lot to do. I doubt I'll have time to ever visit the opera house except on gala nights."

Christine trembled with resentment and hurt, "But you could invite me to visit _you."_

Lizette did not meet the bulging blue eyes, instead she studied her immaculate fingernails, "Well, Maman insists on keeping me busy. There will be no time for that."

"I understand," Christine turned to Hilaire, "But you will not be so busy, I hope."

Hilaire shrugged and bubbled, "I don't know—Can't really say—So many parties and events this time of year—Won't have much time for _mingling—_Oh, there's our carriage. Ta-ta, Chrissy dear, hope you feel better—See you on stage perhaps."

With that the two society girls swept out of the room leaving the invalid sunk in her chair and feeling horribly mortified, until Raoul came to fetch her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the midst of the chaos, no one saw the phamily Leroux depart. Having discharged the bills the night before, there was no need to mix with the crowd in the common room. Though the girls would have liked to say goodbye to their friends, they knew the quieter their departure, the better it would be for Erik. The phantom had sent their trunks ahead early that morning, trusting that Jules would pick them up at the Paris depot as instructed. The phamily carried with them only their most valuable possessions: the Poppins Bag, holding Anna's computer, and Erik's manuscript for _Don Juan Triumphant. _

The train ride home from the depot nearest Perros was somber. Brooke was looking as glum as a melted gumdrop. She stared out the window and said not one word to anyone. Her posture bespoke her dejection and her sore ankle, swathed in padding, did nothing to elevate her spirits.

Anna, who sat beside Erik, watched her cousin. She recognized that sad look. It was the look Brooke wore whenever she and Anna had been forced to part back in 2005. Now she wore it for someone else. The redhead felt a pang of guilt and remorse. She loved her cousin dearly and hated to see her so miserable, but there was a conflict within her that would not settle. It was either: encourage Brooke and Raoul and then lose Erik as a consequence of it, or it was: destroy Brooke's hopes and win Erik.

Anna squirmed uncomfortably, she felt like crying. In an effort to comfort herself, she nestled down beside Erik and pressed her face into his left arm. The masked head turned to look at her. The deep-set blue eyes puzzled over the mopey girl seeking solace in physical contact from a hideous monster.

Inwardly, Erik moaned with wretchedness. The girls were obviously heart-broken at the thought of leaving all of their acquaintance behind, for they would certainly have no contact once they receded into the shadows of a ghostly existence once more. How did that song go? _Down once more? _Yes, that was it. Down once more, the girls would climb, away from sunlight, away from friends and gossip and laughter. Down once more to be the terror of the corps de ballet and the companions of a lonely phantom.

Yet they followed him unquestioningly. They made not one objection. His mind turned the thought over and over. In his twisted and abused mentality, Erik could not quite understand their motives for returning with him. Surely, they could have found a way to survive in Paris without him. His heart said to accept their sisterly affection, though as Erik regarded Anna, he frowned at the word 'sisterly.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nadir Khan was startled from his book when he heard the door from the Rue Scribe entrance scrape open. His heart pounding like a jackhammer, the Persian crept into the kitchen to see who had broken into the house on the lake. To his surprise, who should stumble through the door, but Jules, Erik's servant and middleman, burdened by several lady's traveling trunks.

Nadir darted forward to assist him. "My dear sir, where is the master of the house?"

"Not far behind me, monsieur," Jules mumbled. He bowed hastily and left the room, receding into the dark passageway from whence he had emerged. Nadir heard him speak to someone and then heard female voices moving closer to the door. Anna and Brooke burst into the dimly lit kitchen in a great flurry, forcing Nadir to stumble back so that he nearly tripped over the trunks.

"Oh, dear M. Khan, so sorry to have startled you!" Anna cried.

"Do not think of it. How was your time?" he replied.

"Simply lovely."

"But what is wrong with Mlle. Brooke's foot?" He frowned with concern as he saw the girl stagger towards a chair.

"I twisted my ankle while dancing. It is no bother, really," Brooke answered.

"I am glad it is not serious. Where is Erik?"

"In the hall, talking to Jules," Anna replied. She helped her cousin to her feet and supported her into the sitting room. As they left, Nadir heard them exclaim that it was good to be home. _Home! _

At last, the phantom himself materialized from the dark hall, quickly shutting the door behind him. He acknowledged his house sitter with a nod of his masked head, before sweeping into the sitting room. Nadir followed him.

"I hear you had a lovely time," the Persian stated, his tone mildly amused.

"Indeed. The weather was pleasant, the people accommodating, and the prices outrageous. A perfect vacation in every sense," Erik replied.

"And how was Mlle. Daaé?"

"I am afraid she might have had a poor time of it. Bad company, you know. And she came down with a sudden fit of food poisoning not two nights ago."

"I am sorry to hear it. It is not serious, I trust?" Nadir asked. He stood by as Erik's keen eyes scanned the room for any sign of mischief.

"No, it is not serious, but the recovery will delay her preparations for the opening gala unfortunately."

"By bad company, I assume you meant the Vicomte," Nadir ventured. Erik stiffened and Nadir felt the danger building. He wondered if he should ever risk telling Erik all that he had learned of Christine through his growing attachment to Meg Giry.

"Perhaps" was all of Erik's reply.

"I hope you did not foolishly expose yourself to him."

"Of course not," Erik snarled. A burst of giggles from one of the adjoining bedrooms broke the tension. The Opera Ghost brushed past his friend and went into his bedroom. Nadir followed. He had wondered at the tent like curtains hanging in one corner and now he saw that their purpose was to divide Erik's half of the room from the cousins' half. The girls had tossed their bonnets aside and were pulling off their muddy boots when the two men entered.

With a great (sexy) swish, Erik whipped his cloak from his shoulders and his fedora from his head and hung them on their pegs by the door. Ayesha shot out from beneath the organ, positively ecstatic at the sight of her master. With a soft chuckle, Erik swooped down to pick her up. The cat purred as loudly as engine and rubbed her head against Erik's mask.

"My, my, are you happy to see me, little one. I hope this does not mean you were mistreated?" his voice lightly threatening as he turned his eyes on Nadir. The Persian protested any ideas of abuse towards Ayesha. She hissed at him as though she meant to tell everyone about his secret dinners with Meg. Nadir was glad the animal could not talk.

Anna and Brooke reemerged from their cubbyhole, dressed in 21st century P.J.'s and their favorite robes. Nadir yelped in surprise as he averted his jade eyes.

"Allah! Erik, can't you ask them to be more modest?" he hissed. The girls arched their eyebrows and rolled their eyes.

"Don't be so squeamish, daroga. You've seen enough scantily-clad ballerinas and Persian slave girls in your time," Erik replied indifferently.

"But these are proper young ladies!"

Erik chuckled, "They have a very different idea of what is proper, daroga. Besides, they are completely beyond the reach of my lectures on decency."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cousins decided to put off the laundry until the next day and so everyone lounged about the sitting room for the rest of the afternoon. Nadir, who had been invited to stay at the girls' request, watched in silent amazement as the phamily interacted with each other with familiar ease.

"I don't want to practice right now, Erik," Anna whined, shying away from the piano, which sat against the wall beside the entrance to Erik's bedroom.

"If you were at all serious about improving yourself, you'd practice no matter how tired you were," Erik said irritably.

"If you had any knowledge about health issues, you'd learn to pace yourself," she replied.

"I know all about health issues!"

Brooke interjected, "This from an insomniac who starves himself worse than a runway model."

Erik growled and grumbled, but did not argue. He settled into his favorite chair and hid behind a book. Nadir marveled at it. Erik was more relaxed and open and careless with these young women than Nadir had ever seen him, even at the height of his power at the Persian court. The daroga began to think that Erik had made a terrible mistake in settling his affections on Christine. Perhaps the girls would be open to hearing about all of the things Meg had told him.

Brooke stirred from her chair and began to wonder about the room, she addressed Erik as she strolled past his chair, "So when do we get the Louis-Phillipe room back?"

"Never."

"That little spider hole isn't exactly comfortable."

"Perhaps you think the walls should be padded, too?" he snarked.

"Shut up."

Nadir's eyebrows shot up. No one ever told Erik to shut up and lived to tell about it.

Anna joined the conversation, "Really, Erik, it's so fluffy it's suffocating."

"Well, I can't expect to move you out of the Louis-Phillipe room every time Christine comes to visit. It would be ridiculous."

They were on the point of continuing their argument when they were interrupted by a loud buzzing noise issuing from the very room in question.

Nadir leapt from his seat, "What in Allah's name is that?"

Erik rushed into the Louis-Phillipe room without waiting to answer.

Meanwhile, the girls had gone bone white as Anna hoarsely whispered, "Someone's in the torture chamber."


	37. A Few Close Calls

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO

Hi, everyone! Hate to disappoint, but Christine is not in the torture chamber. Sad, I know, but if I kill her now the phic is over. Anywho…

**Aurora: **Well, hello and welcome back! I have not see you here abouts in awhile, but I am glad it was due to some vacationing and not because you suddenly decided to stop reading.

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **Hmm, speaking of Batman, I still need to see that new movie. The Bird is using me as an excuse to see it again, too bad she'll have to wait till she doesn't look like a balloon anymore.

**Sol: **It is sad, isn't it? Erik could have his own harem if he wanted if only he'd wake up and hear the catcalls. Ah, yes, the padded cell, hence why Erik asked if Brooke wished him to install padding on the walls as well. Mwahaha!

**Pleading Eyes: **You updated too! Yeah! Did I remember to review your newest episode? I can't recall, but I loved it.

**Rinny Leonhart Rikku: **So sorry this wasn't posted till Saturday!

**Silvermasque: **Suspense is over (snips cliff hanger rope)

**Savvy the Pen-Nameless: **My dear Rosencrantz, you should know that I prefer Skittles to M&M's (tosses 100 green Skittles at friend)

**Nameless Waif: **OMG! I love the part when Erik says, "The grasshopper jumps jolly high!" Only my copy doesn't say that. (pouts) But I love it! 'Tis actually my favorite part. But as to Erik neglecting to feed him self, I believe it just has to do with his lifestyle and quirky personality. I cannot remember if it was Leroux or Kay who established it.

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **But life does not always serve us happy endings, my dear reader! However, I shall keep my eyes open for any alternative endings.

**Music Angel no.24601: **HA! That would be hilarious. That's the best guess yet…or at least the most creative. Er, comparing the respective couples to bunnies has some rather frightening implications.

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **I am really looking forward to this party. I hope that Lizette and Hilaire shall be used to stand in for the donkey when the tail-pinning comes. And there are plenty of idiots for the torture chamber to swallow.

**Alatariel Maris Telcontar: **Thank you so much!

**Tian Sirki: **Oh, I'm so glad you got the email. If you've posted it please let me know. I'd love to be among your readership.

**shibbydm: **Hmm, "The Lion King" isn't a bad idea.

**LenisVox: **I felt so stupid. It suddenly occurred to me that you are the author of "A Stitch in Time" which is on my favorites list. Erik had a good laugh at my expense when I finally made the connection. (facepalm) Did you really have a dream about the Poppins Bag? That is so cool.

**aragornnme: **Oh, as to the quick update, I simply had the idea ready and I had the time, the latter being the most difficult to obtain.

**Voldemort's Hikari: **I think it's a rather comforting and fuzzy thought to have the cousins thinking of the house on the lake as their own home.

**SimplyElymas: **(Gasp!) How could I ever do that to the Gerry? (cuddles the Gerry) More Meg and Nadir shall be coming along.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A FEW CLOSE CALLS

Erik wasted no time in disarming the torture chamber and opening the door, which joined it with the Louis-Phillipe room. His heart thudded wildly as he thought the poor soul roasting inside might be Christine. _But, _he reasoned to himself, _she does not know about the trap door on the floor of the third cellar. No one knows, but the daroga, the girls, and myself…unless…_

Nadir rushed after Erik, crying out in panic, "Meg! Dear, Meg!"

"Meg?" Anna whispered to Brooke. "I think the daroga's been up to something."

Forgetting their fear and grinning wickedly, the girls slunk into the Louis-Phillipe room. They arrived just as Erik was venturing into the boiling atmosphere of the chamber to retrieve the body inside.

"Is it a woman?" Nadir squeaked. His hat was being twisted and bent out of shape in his hands as he peered into the now dark chamber. He couldn't imagine how Meg would have found the trap door between the flat and the backdrop for the _Roi de Lahore, _but what if she had gone looking for him? He would die if Erik came out bearing the dancer's little body in his arms.

Anna approached him silently from behind, so silently that he jumped with fright when she touched his elbow.

"Allah! Must you sneak up like that? You're as bad as Erik!" the Persian snapped in uncharacteristic irritability.

"Don't worry, M. Khan, Meg Giry is not in there. It is Joseph Buquet the chief stagehand," she said.

"How can you know who is in there? Please, don't serve me any riddles or tricks," Nadir growled. He did not mean to be so cross, but the thought of Meg being trapped in that wretched replica of the khanum's favorite torture devise was unbearable.

Erik reemerged from the chamber, carrying a heavy body, his deep-set eyes boring into the Persian. "I would ask you not to snap at either of my companions in such a way. For you see, she is absolutely right. It is Joseph Buquet."

Nadir nearly fainted with joy. He recovered himself and apologized to Anna who was looking supremely smug. They next turned their attention to the limp form of the chief stagehand, which Erik was laying upon the fainting couch in the Louis-Phillipe room. Joseph Buquet's body was drenched in sweat. He had removed his vest and tie and his shirt was unbuttoned, obviously in an attempt to lessen the heat of the chamber's jungle. His old, bearded face shone as red as the skin of an over-ripe tomato.

"Is he dead?" Brooke asked, hobbling to the head of the couch. Erik leaned over the inert body and pressed his cold, lean fingers against the man's neck. He waited for a moment, leaned further in, tilting his masked head to the side, and then straightened back up.

"No, he is alive, but his breathing is weak and his heartbeat labored. Anna, would you please fetch some cold water and a rag," the Phantom instructed. The redhead nodded and scurried away to do his bidding. When she returned, Erik tended to Buquet. The room fell into silence, with only the soft ticking of the mantle clock and the swish of the girls' robes to disturb it.

Nadir mumbled thanks to Allah for preserving Meg as he watched the Opera Ghost doctor the hapless stagehand with Brooke and Anna as his nurses. At last Buquet's breathing and heartbeat returned to normal and he slipped into a peaceful sleep, aided by a rag full of chloroform.

"Was that drug necessary?" the Persian asked as the phamily retreated from the sick bed.

Erik replied, "Yes, he needs to sleep soundly for his own good and for ours. We can't have him waking up to see the dear old Opera Ghost and his ladies standing beside him. Nor you, daroga."

As he spoke, Erik washed his hands in a clean bowl of water, the loose sleeves of his shirt rolled to his bony elbows, like a physician who has just completed a surgery. His back was to the Persian so that he could not see Erik's hands readying the Punjab lasso. All at once, the Ghost whirled on his friend, flinging the rope around his neck and jerking him close.

"You called out for Little Giry just a moment ago. Why? Why would you assume or even suspect that she would be anywhere near this place?" Erik roared in the Persian's swarthy face.

He only got a garbled murmur in reply, but the shah-in-shah's magician had no intention of loosening his deadly lasso.

"You brought her down here, didn't you? While we were gone? Was it just Little Giry or did you invite the rest of the corps de ballet, too?" Erik hissed.

The Persian clawed frantically at the rope, his eyes bulging as he struggled against the inhumanly strong Phantom. Nadir gurgled and choked and Erik continued to rant, slowly pulling the noose tighter. All might have been done for Erik's oldest friend, but a pair of slender arms throwing themselves about Erik's shoulders stayed the Phantom's murderous hand.

"Erik, don't! You'll only regret it," Anna said. At the height of his fury, Erik's burning eyes turned to the petite girl gently pressing his shoulders and, immediately, the burning was replaced by softened shame. The Persian was released. He staggered back, rubbing his throat and gasping for precious air. He stumbled against Brooke, who despite her own injury supported his shocked body.

Though she withdrew her arms, Anna remained beside Erik, like an angel sitting on his shoulder, biding him to do good and not evil. She knew what Nadir had done had put them in jeopardy, but she would not allow Erik to commit murder on her watch. He had done it before, she knew, but things were different now. The redhead pulled him to the bed and forced him to sit as Brooke helped Nadir to a chair before scurrying to join her comrades.

"I am sorry, Erik," Nadir finally managed to gasp. He hung his head, unable to really face the Phantom and the girls who flanked him.

"Apology accepted, but I'll have you know it for their sakes (indicating the cousins) alone that you are not dead at my feet," Erik snarled.

"You are such a gentleman, Erik," Brooke said lightly, "But, M. Khan, I must confess I had no idea you had a crush on Meg Giry."

The Persian's dark head shot up in surprise, "I beg your pardon. What do you mean by a 'crush'?"

"You know, when you like someone…of the opposite sex…in a more than friendly way," Anna explained.

Erik rolled his eyes, "You women and your gossip."

"Shush! We're digging for a confession here!"

Nadir smiled sheepishly. The toe of his boot dug into the carpet with unusual force. The girls harassed him for details, but the prudent Persian chief of police was reluctant to discuss his love life with the boisterous young women.

Meanwhile, Erik had inwardly decided, _if you can't beat them, join them. _And then proceeded to say, "Really, daroga, after putting the three of us at risk of discovery, you do owe an explanation for the amusing turn of events in your life."

Nadir narrowed his jade eyes at Erik, but only received the cold, blank stare of a mask in return.

"Very well. What is it that you want to know?"

The girls pounced on him like vultures, "Everything!"

"When did you start noticing her?"

"How long before you asked her out or talked to her?"

"How did you ask her out?"

"Why did you bring her down here?"

"Was it dinner and a stroll by the lake or maybe something else?"

"Please slow down! I'm almost preferring the Punjab lasso," Nadir sputtered. Erik chuckled manically, figuring this was punishment enough for the daroga's foolishness, and he had to admit to feeling somewhat curious about Nadir's 'crush' on Meg Giry.

"Just take them one at a time, daroga. Small doses work best with these two," Erik advised.

Nadir nodded and swallowed, "Yes, well, I have been attached to Mlle. Giry for some time now—"

"Why?" Brooke asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you grow attached to her? Sickening details, M. Khan. That's how we females like our gossip."

Nadir gritted his teeth, "She is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Naturally, I wanted to know more about her, so I had a double reason for lurking about the upper floors of the Opera House. The first reason, of course, being the need to keep an eye on Erik's ghostly activities."

"Interesting. Go on."

"I am somewhat awkward and reserved by nature. And Mlle. Giry is, more or less, the opposite. I found her brightness and flirtatious personality somewhat intimidating. She could easily snag the heart of some rich young Parisian."

"Aaaaaaaw! That's so sweet!" the girls cooed.

Erik snorted disdainfully, "Honestly, daroga, you were once the chief of police in Persia. How is it that a woman can unravel you so?"

Everyone slowly turned to stare at Erik.

He stared back. "What?"

Anna addressed the Persian, "Please proceed, M. Khan."

"Indeed, well, it took some time before I felt confident enough to address her. She knew who I was, of course. Anyway, I asked her to supper one night and she accepted."

"And this is where you brought her?" Erik asked.

"Yes…but she was blindfolded!"

This was definitely a face-meets-palm moment. Erik growled, "Dear daroga, what possessed you to bring a ballet rat to the one place she fears the most _and _with the added risk of my finding out about your treachery?"

Nadir shrugged, "The atmosphere, I suppose. Though that probably does not make much sense to you, Erik."

"Oh, it makes sense to us," the cousins chimed.

Erik disregarded it, oblivious, as usual, to his own sex appeal. "Well, I certainly hope you are satisfied. It was a stupid thing to do. If you were so keen to win over Little Giry, you could have simply mentioned something to me. I am well-acquainted with her mother, you know."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Obviously. Now, have you two little monsters had enough 'sickening details'?" Erik turned to the cousins.

"No," Brooke replied, "But we have other resources."

Nadir's eyebrows arched in surprise and suspicion, "What do you mean?"

"If we told we'd have to kill you."

"Fair enough."

Erik walked to the fainting couch and inspected Joseph Buquet. "He is doing well, but we need to get him back to the surface."

Nadir stepped forward, anxious to make amends with Erik for his betrayal of their already tender trust, "I'll help you with him."

Erik let out a barking laugh, "You! Dear daroga, if I wanted to make enough racket to alert the entire opera house to my activities then I would, by all means, take you on this little excursion. However, I do wish to remain unseen and unheard so I shall be taking Anna with me. You can stay here with Brooke. Her swollen ankle will not allow her to accompany us."

Nadir spluttered indignantly, "But she's a woman!" He gestured to the self-satisfied redhead.

"And not above fifteen minutes ago she succeeded in making you jump out of your skin. I do have more than one pupil, you know, and the majority of them learn something other than music. Enough of this banter, Anna, my dear, if you would ready yourself?"

Anna happily scampered into Erik's bedroom. She felt an upsurge of pride at the thought that Erik trusted her more than the Persian. She crossed the large room to the troublesome purple tent that served as her 'bedchamber.' Beyond the mattresses, leaning against the wall, there was a chest of drawers and two cupboards, holding everything that belonged to her and Brooke.

She yanked open the top bureau drawer and rummaged about, digging deeper and deeper through piles of chemises and panties before locating the desired object. With a triumphant 'Aha!' she leapt back and bounced across the mattresses to the coat hooks secured to the perpendicular wall and snatched up her mini-phantom cloak. The item from the bureau drawer was lifted to her face and tied about her head. It was the Raven's masquerade mask, which she always wore when she went haunting.

She reemerged from the master bedroom five minutes later, having donned her glow-in-the-dark Phantom shirt (a souvenir from the night she had seen the ALW musical), a pair of jeans, and black converse, all enveloped by her cloak.

Nadir swore quietly as she floated into the sitting room. The girl had transformed into an Erika! This did not seem to faze anyone else in the room. Brooke grinned approval from her position on a plush sofa.

"Back to normal, huh?" she quipped.

"Oh, yes," Anna replied, adding a sinister chuckle for effect.

"What has he done to you?" Nadir cried in horror.

"I beg your pardon?" Erik said; his eyes glowing incredulously as he pulled on his own cloak of sexiness.

Anna stood tall (at five feet, two inches), her fists akimbo, and crowed, "Erik has nothing to do with this. I was perfectly demented _prior_ to meeting the Opera Ghost."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A quarter of an hour later, Anna led the way through the upper cellars while Erik followed, the unconscious body of Joseph Buquet slung over one bony shoulder.

"Turn left," he whispered, throwing his voice beneath the hood of her cloak. Anna's petite form disappeared around the indicated bend, but returned not a half-second later, moving with panicked speed.

"Phantom, it's the rat-catcher! He's coming down the hall," she gasped.

"Did he see you?"

"No, I heard the rats."

"Come to me," Erik commanded. With his free arm he latched on to Anna's left wrist and pulled her into a little alcove in the wall. It was a rather tight fit. The girl was forced to flatten her self against Erik's chest. He drew his cloak over them, concealing them from the orange flame of the rat-catcher's lantern. The smell of lilies nearly overwhelmed her.

"Hold still," Erik hissed. Anna ceased her squirming. The chilling chatter of a herd of slimy rats reached their ears and grew steadily louder. At last, a shaft of light passed beneath the hem of the cloak, exposing Anna's shoes for a moment, and then it was gone and the chattering faded into the distance.

Erik hastily shoved Anna back into the cold corridor. She stumbled, but caught herself against the opposite wall.

"Nice! Really slick."

"Forgive me, my dear. I was getting claustrophobic."

They continued on their way.

"We'll have to go through Christine's dressing room mirror," Erik said. He whispered instructions to Anna, though she knew the way as well as he. She had gone up there so often to play tricks on Christine that she _and _Brooke could have walked up there blindfolded. Of course, Erik didn't know much about that. In any case, when they reached the mirror, after checking to make sure no one was on the other side, Erik quietly explained the mirror's counterweights so that Anna could open the mirror. She felt rather important, being allowed to know how to work his intricate inventions.

The mirror swung open.

"You know, you could be normal and just install a bookshelf with ridiculously large, leather-bound first editions that trigger the magic door when you push in the complete works of Percy Shelley," Anna muttered as they stepped through the threshold.

"If I were normal, I wouldn't be _here_," Erik returned dryly. He shifted Joseph Buquet to his other shoulder. "Check outside the door."

Anna felt complete revulsion at the sight of Christine's things laying about the little room. She glanced back at Erik. Judging by the softened expression in his eyes, his thoughts were running in the opposite direction from hers.

"Anna?"

"Huh? What?"

"Check. Outside. The. Door."

"Oh…right." She hurried to the door, which opened into a small hallway. It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon and rehearsals were still in progress so there were not many people wandering aimlessly about the opera's passageways. Anna beckoned Erik to follow her.

"Where exactly are we taking him?" she asked.

"To his proper station in the flies."

The climb to the top of the flies was a difficult one. Erik, usually lithe as a panther, swayed dangerously under the deadweight of Buquet's body. Anna did what she could to help him up the ropes. By some miracle they reached the top unseen, but were forced to take cover in the shadows when a few roughened stagehands shuffled into hearing range.

"Where is Buquet t'day?" one grumbled.

"Don't know. S'not like him to be slackin' on t'job. Got me worried," replied the other.

"Got us in jam, is wot it did. We had to send the new man to cover for 'im."

They were soon gone, but they left the hidden ghosts with the problem of distracting the 'new guy' from his post long enough to dispose of Joseph Buquet.

"I'll distract him, Phantom," Anna said, using his pseudonym just in case they were overheard.

"What if you get caught?" he answered. _Was that worry in his eyes? How loverly._

"I do this all the time!"

"You are out of practice, my dear. We only returned today."

"Phantom, don't argue with me."

"Why you impertinent—"

But Anna had already begun to slink her way towards the other side. There was a hidden compartment near Buquet's regular post, which if she could get to, would serve as an excellent hiding spot. She weaved and tiptoed, moving through the shadows as Erik had taught her months ago. She had to admit she was nervous after so long a hiatus from haunting, but once she was back in familiar territory her old confidence came to her aid.

The new guy was a skinny, lazy looking fellow who was employed in picking his nose when the Raven found him. She kept to the darkest corner, near the secret compartment, and used a little of the ventriloquisms the Phantom had taught her to throw her voice.

"Hello."

The new guy jumped at the sound of the disembodied voice. "Who's there?"

"Someone to welcome you. I don't believe I've seen you before. Are you new?"

"Y-yes," he squeaked. The poor lad whirled about, trying to locate the voice. His eyes caught a patch of glowing white something, hanging in the air in the darkest corner of his loft. In the manner of all stupid people, when confronted by the unknown and frightening, he decided to move _toward _the floating white spot, rather than away from it.

"A-are you the…"

"The what?"

"The Phantom?" he gasped.

"Dear me, no. I'm not nearly clever enough to be the Phantom. By the way, did you know that in the state of New Hampshire, there is a little, obscure town, the residents of which celebrate Moose Day?"

The new guy stopped dead in his tracks and blinked. "No, I-I didn't know that."

"They do. They have moose-calling contests and moose parades and everything. And I would tell you all about, but it appears your supervisor, M. Buquet there, is in need of some assistance."

All at once the white spot vanished and when the new guy turned around he saw a seemingly inebriated Joseph Buquet lying beside his post, with an empty rum bottle in his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, what did Meg tell you about Christine?" Brooke asked as the Persian served her a plate of spinach puffs.

"She told me how much she hated Christine. She said that Erik's little angel was 'a gold-digger and a shameless prima donna.' Those were her words," he said.

"Wow, I thought Meg and Christine were like this." She held up a hand and crossed the index and middle fingers.

Apparently, Nadir understood the gesture because he nodded and replied, "As did I. I've never been so surprised in my life. Meg was quite vehement in her criticisms."

"What do you think of it?"

Nadir puzzled for a moment before venturing to make an answer. "I am not entirely certain. I determined to observe Mlle. Daaé more closely—"

"Oh, Meg is right. I've no doubt of that. Christine treats Anna and me like crap whenever Erik's not looking. Of course, we're not exactly angels to _her _ourselves, but that's beside the point."

"All the same, I would feel better having seen her behavior myself, rather than take the word of someone else. Policeman's instincts, I suppose. I think Erik _and _the Vicomte have made a mistake to place their affections with her."

Brooke sat up straight, upsetting the plate of spinach puffs in her violent movement, "Ya think? Why is it obvious to everyone else, but those two?"

Nadir smirked at the tone of jealousy in her voice. "I wouldn't know about the Vicomte, but in Erik's case, I'd say he is stuck in that sad mentality that tells him no woman will ever love him of her own accord. He figures his only chance is to manipulate the love out Christine, though somewhere in his heart, even he knows it is not enough. Though to be honest, I don't know any woman who could handle Erik."

Brooke arched her eyebrows. Suddenly, the door from the lake banged open and the Phantom and the Raven stormed in.

"How could you be dense enough to wear a shirt that glows in the dark?" Erik roared at Anna's back. She whirled to face him.

"I thought the cloak was covering it," she protested.

"You weren't thinking at all! You were almost caught."

"Hey, it got the job done. I was standing near enough to that cupboard that if I needed to disappear I could have."

"And what makes you think that boy wouldn't have found you?" Erik snarled.

"Because half of his brain was sitting at the end of his finger."

Erik looked taken aback for a moment before heaving an exasperated sigh and stomping off to his room, muttering about impossible women. Anna made faces at his retreating form.

Nadir blinked in shock. Slowly, his gaze returned to Brooke, who did not look in the least bit surprised.

"Well, M. Khan?" she said.

"I believe I would like to retract my last utterance."


	38. AHaunting We Will Go

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**A/N IMPORTANT! **Okay, now that I've got your attention, there is some important (in case you didn't notice) information that I must communicate to you all. I need you, dear readers, to understand that this phic was _never _meant to have a plot and _never, ever _meant to have any romantic flings between the OC's and any POTO characters.

However, sometime during a dark and stormy night, I was taken hostage and knocked unconscious by a wet noodle and when I awoke someone had installed the weak beginnings of a plot and the underpinnings of romance into my phic. I suspect it must have been Anna and Brooke because I don't think either Erik or Raoul would have voluntarily wished this upon them selves.

This poses a big problem: The only instruction I was left with, as far as plot goes, is this: _Get Anna & Erik and Brooke & Raoul to the church on time. _Sadly, my sabotogers neglected to give me directions as to the how's and who's and where's and all that important stuff.

In addition to hoisting this plot on me, I now have several new characters to deal with; plus, the usual suspects: length of phic and continuity of style and tone. I wish for _Phantom Companions _to continue for a little while and I wish to preserve the nutty, nonsensical fun that dominated the first chapters, which is becoming increasingly hard to do.

To rectify the situation, the chapters are, by and large, going to be more episodic in nature. Meaning that this is going to be more like a television series than a motion picture film. Make sense? Every chapter shall strive to take the plot forward a step, whether by action or relationship developments, with a few bits of random fun thrown in for good measure. They might be a little shorter, too, but shorter chapters mean faster updates. I hope this makes sense to everyone.

Anywho. All that to say, please bear with me as I navigate the murky waters of my nebulous plot.

P.S. Don't look for any wedding bells or major fluff moments anytime soon. I _won't _save it for the _last_ chapter (cuz that bugs me), but I'm not gonna have them all hopping off to the chapel too soon because…then what? Lots of fluff and angst and BLAH! Not my style, so…I hope y'all still enjoy it. All constructive criticisms and suggestions for scenarios are welcome.

The Gerry: Are you finished?

Misty: Yes.

The Gerry: Good, because I think that's the longest A/N I've ever seen.

Misty: Shut up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

A-HAUNTING WE WILL GO

Anna and Brooke came the conclusion that something had to be done about that horridly stuffy and fluffy purple corner in Erik's bedroom. The Louis-Phillipe room was obviously out of the question and there wasn't much chance of convincing Erik to build a new room.

"How about a little redecorating then?" Brooke suggested.

"That seems to be our only option," Anna replied. They were perched on the lip of Erik's coffin, from which they had a good view of the offending velvet tent. Suffice to say, Erik was not present.

"What will Erik say?" Anna mused as she watched Brooke make some sketches.

"Erik doesn't have to know."

"But this isn't like _While You Were Out _where we can send the dear, old, cranky Phantom on a two day 'vacation' with the kids while that cute host and his crew revamp the morgue here."

Brooke looked up and blinked. "Let that settle for a moment…Okay, now I see your point. How about Erik doesn't have a say?"

"For some inexplicable reason, I don't believe he'll agree to those terms."

"He's the one who kicked us out of _our _room and stuffed us into that monstrosity." Brooke flung an arm in the direction of the purple tent in a moment of theatrical disgust.

"But it's _his _house."

Brooke slammed her sketchbook to the floor and Ayesha chased after the pencil. The brunette rounded on her cousin, startling her so that Anna lost her balance and toppled into the coffin, her bustle pushing her legs and gown over her head.

Brooke poked her head inside, "Do you want to do this or not?"

"Yef! Mut eh nfff na mfff bunnab!"

Brooke yanked the train of the gown from her cousin's head. "Repeat," she commanded.

Anna gasped, "Yes! But I want to do it without risking the Punjab."

"Anna, Erik thinks we're, like, his sisters. He's not going to punjab us no matter what we do."

"All right."

Brooke reached in and heaved Anna out of the coffin. When her feet hit the floor, Anna broke away from Brooke and did a herky-jerky, heebie-jeebie dance like a chicken with a twitch.

Brooke snickered, "What was that?"

"I just got the willies from being in that coffin. Why does he have to be so morbid?"

"It's…Erik. Now, what do you think of my designs?"

Brooke retrieved her sketchbook from the floor and held it up for Anna to see. The design was a modification on what Erik had attempted to create. It was a good deal more organized and allowed for more breathing room. Admittedly, it took up more space, too. But since Erik only slept and composed in the room, the girls figured it wouldn't make much difference.

"I like. But what fabrics do you plan on using?" Anna said.

"Good question. I don't know."

"Well, we have an entire opera house to explore for ideas. Want to go haunting?"

"Sure."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The girls silently traipsed through the opera house. They both wore _plain _black shirts and jeans beneath their cloaks and covered faces their masquerade masks. It had been a few days since their return from Perros and Brooke's ankle had healed so that the only pain she felt was a slight, tender ache. The girls easily slipped through the secret passageways that Erik had built into the building all those years ago.

As they skittered through the labyrinthine halls, the cousins paused every once in awhile to eavesdrop on the opera's various employees. Most of the talk concerned Joseph Buquet and the return of the Opera Ghost and his companions. Everyone knew there was more than one ghost by now. The companions had been labeled the Raven and the Spirit, after the mysterious ladies who had accompanied Red Death to the masque some months earlier.

To the cousins' surprise, they over heard someone saying that Buquet had died.

"But the Phantom said he was all right," Anna whispered to her friend.

"Maybe Buquet relapsed or never fully woke. Maybe the Phantom gave him too much chloroform," Brooke reasoned as they snaked their way through the flies.

"But the Phantom never makes mistakes like that…unless it's on purpose. Good heavens, Brooke, you don't think the Phantom secretly drugged Buquet to death, do you?" Anna felt sick to her stomach at the thought.

"No, no, why would he do that?"

"I don't know. Hey, there's that new guy I told about Moose Day." Anna pointed at the tall, skinny figured who had been surrounded by a troupe of awestruck ballet rats on the stage floor. The cousins paused to listen.

"Did she really speak to you?" an impish blonde asked, leaning forward in a most unladylike manner.

"What did she say?" asked another girl.

"Were you afraid?"

The boy put up his hands to ward off their questions, chuckling good-naturedly like a celebrity mingling with his adoring fans, "Now, now, girls. One at a time, if you please. Yes, one of the Phantom's ladies spoke to me. Henri says it must have been the Raven, because she wore black and not white. Though, I think Henri must be mistaken, for I'm certain I saw a patch of white."

The girls gasped in shock and admiration.

The boy continued in his haughty manner, "I must say she did not impress me much. Hardly frightened me a bit, not a good sign in a ghost, wouldn't you say, girls."

He guffawed and snorted loudly, and though the girls giggled a little, they did not fully join in his merriment. A few of the older and wiser ones gave each other significant looks. Though the new boy might have been enjoying his moment in the spotlight, they were certain he had been marked as the Phantom's next victim.

Meanwhile, the Raven was fuming in the flies overhead. She danced about, hopping from foot to foot, her animation growing with her irritation as she swore and cursed.

"That little liar! He was ready to pee his pants!" Anna hissed.

Brooke muffled her laughter with her hands.

"Don't laugh. That nose-picking bugger is going down." Anna's brown eyes darted about until they located an excellent weapon of revenge, hanging just within her reach: a large bundle of sandbags. A dainty hand shot out and grasped the rope, tugging it loose and sending the heavy bags plummeting to the floor like bombs from the _Memphis Belle. _

The stage below erupted into a flurry of white as the ballet rats scrambled to get out of the way. One well-placed sand bag and they would never walk again, much less dance. All seven bags hit the ground with sickening thuds, shooting up clouds of dust.

When the dust settled, one of the older ballerinas leveled an accusing finger at the new guy—who had gone as white as their tulle skirts—and screeched, "It's your fault. You made her angry. She heard you!"

From somewhere overhead, an evil, maniacal laugh rang out, echoing across the stage and filling the auditorium with it awful, ominous sound. The ballet rats screamed in delighted terror as the new guy collapsed into an unconscious heap on the floor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I love the smell of tyranny in the morning" Anna said as she and Brooke scurried through the hollow channel circling the corps de ballet's practice room.

"You make Darth Vader look like Mother Teresa," Brooke muttered.

The channel surrounding the ballet room was one of Erik's better architectural ideas. It encompassed the entire room and had several offshoots that led to other places in the opera house, like the Communist road, the managers' office, the dormitories, and box five. In order to see without being seen, Erik had installed screens at different intervals along the channel. From the outside the screens blended in with the room's ornate décor, from the inside he could watch Mme. Giry conduct her lessons. As Christine was usually in this room, he often frequented the "Ballet Channel," as his companions called it.

The space was tight, but the girls were thinner, or as thin as Erik, thus they had little trouble scooting through the darkened tunnel. All at once, Anna collided with something solid and black and smelling of lilies.

She fell back with a soft "Oof!" shook her head clear, and said, "Hello, Erik. Fancy meeting you here."

"Indeed." A pair of glowing orbs turned in her direction and Anna knew Erik was looking at her. She blinked to adjust her own eyesight to the poor gaslight filtering through the screen beside them. Erik's tall, thin form was contorted into the most painful-looking position as he huddled in front of the screen, watching the activity below.

"You two could wake the dead with all the noise you make," Erik said, his beautiful voice barely more than a breath of air.

Brooke dismissed his censure with a wave of her hand, "_You _could hear a pin drop in the middle of the Super Bowl half time show, Erik."

"When I figure out what that means I'll come up with a crushing reply."

The girls squirmed closer to peer through the vent. Mme. Giry was reprimanding little Jammes and Meg for some mistake while the others in the class stood at the bar doing their exercises. Surprisingly, Christine was among them, though still looking slightly puffy.

Brooke pondered out loud, "I still don't understand why Mme. Giry looks like Miranda Richardson. Or why she's the ballet mistress at all, if Erik and Raoul and just about everything else fits with the books."

Anna felt Erik shift about as he pulled something out of his trouser pocket, and heard the crinkle of parchment paper. She could see him bending his masked face over a sheet of paper, before he held it out to Brooke.

"It's for you," he said.

Brooke happily clapped her hands and plucked the paper from his fingers, "Thank you!"

Anna leaned in to read it with her, which was difficult in the dim gaslight.

_Dearest Brooke, As to Mme. Giry's Webberness, I like her as the ballet mistress. She's just so cool in that role. So there. Love, Misty._

The note vaporized itself the next moment.

"She scares me sometimes," Anna said. All at once, the redhead recalled the rumors they had heard reverberating throughout the opera house. She frowned beneath her black, feathered mask. Should she just openly question Erik? Why not.

"Hey, Erik have you heard about Joseph Buquet?" she asked.

"Yes. What about it?"

"Everyone's saying he's dead." She hoped he understood her unspoken question. He did. The glowing eyes narrowed at her.

"Anna, since when do you believe theatre gossip?" he chided.

"Um, never…but, I did read the book."

"Did you? Well, I hope you will take my word over anyone else's when I tell you that M. Buquet is perfectly fine. He was presumed to have taken up drinking and was sent to recover with his brother in the country. Naturally, that is not sensational enough for the ballets rats, so the story has been embellished," Erik explained.

"Oh."

Before they could say anything else, a surge of noise from the room below caught their attention. The door to the practice room flew open and several willowy ballerinas came rushing in, breathless and terrified. They all spoke and cried at the same time so that no one could understand a word they were saying.

A loud rap from Mme. Giry's cane silenced the tumultuous chattering. The girls bit their tongues and stood shivering as though it were painful to hold in their ramblings.

"You," Mme. Giry pointed to the oldest intruder, "Please, explain the reason for this outrageous behavior."

The girl shuffled forward, sniffling quietly, and said, "We were speaking with Jean-Paul, the new stagehand, and _someone _dropped a bundle of sandbags on us."

The little crowd gasped and the words _phantom, raven, _and _spirit _could be heard rippling through their ranks.

"I see, and was anyone hurt?" Mme. Giry asked, her face deadpan.

"No, madam."

"Then I see no reason for your conduct. Back to your exercises."

The crowd dispersed. In the channels overhead, Erik slowly turned his gaze to the two cousins.

"You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

Anna gave a theatrical gasp of indignation, "Erik, does this look like the face of someone who would involve themselves in mayhem and destruction?"

She lifted her mask to blink at him with big doe eyes. Erik privately acknowledged, for the first time, that her features were rather pretty. And her expression, though feigning innocence at the moment, was open and honest in a way that Christine's never was. The Phantom shook him self and turned away.

"Well, enough of this. Time for me to earn my salary," he said, preparing to do a little haunting himself.

Brooke poked her head over Anna's shoulder, "What are you going to do?"

Erik shrugged, "Chuckle maniacally, I suppose."

"Pssf! That is so old-school. Move over." Brooke shoved her companions to the side, wriggling forward until she was positioned directly in front of the screen. "Anna, will you go to the next vent? I'll start us off."

"Sure thing! Excuse me, Erik." Anna squirmed past him and slid down the channel to the next vent. Looking back, she could barely see the outlines of Erik and Brooke.

"Dare I ask what you're doing?" Erik said dryly.

Brooke grinned, "Watch and learn, M. Ghost."

With that she broke out into song, her voice ringing through the practice room:

_The world's about to be destroyed,_

_There's no point getting all annoyed!_

Anna took up the next lines from her position:

_Lie back and let the planet_

_Dissolve around you!_

Brooke sang again, her voice sugary sweet like a child's:

_If I had just one last wish,_

_I would like a tasty fish._

Anna sang, her voice soaring to a mock operatic soprano:

_If we could just change one thing,_

_We would all have lungs to sing!_

They finished the chorus together:

_So long, so long, _

_And thanks for all the fish!_

Down below, all hell broke loose. Ballerinas scattered across the chamber like snowflakes caught in a storm, all shrieking, "_IT'S THE FISH SONG! THEY'RE HERE!"_

The little ones broke down in hysterical tears and the older ones shouted out premonitions of doom, as if it helped. No amount of cane rapping from a furious Mme. Giry could restore order. In the channel, Erik was doing his best to ignore the beaming brunette beside him. She smiled like a cat with bird's feathers stuck in its teeth, her white mask adding to her feline-like appearance; she nudged him.

Erik sighed. There was no escaping it. Begrudgingly, he muttered, "Impressive. Most impressive."

"Thanks! Feel free to use it next time. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have to get to the costume department." Brooke squeezed past the miffed Opera Ghost to join Anna at the far end of the tunnel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

That song was from _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _and I don't own it, but I do believe we have frozen salmon living in our freezer.

Review replies!

**Music Angel no.24601: **They will 'get it on' after they've said their "I do's." I had a rather interesting thought, Erik and Eponine might make a good couple, since they're both the love triangle losers from their respective plays and their names start with "E."

**Beregond'sGirl: **I so wish I could claim the invention of Ayesha, just cuz it's so cool that you named your cat after my story, but, sadly, Ayesha belongs to Susan Kay. (brightens) However, I am pleased to find that this phic agrees with you. I am something of a purist myself, so I appreciate your…appreciation. It's phanphiction, though, what's the fun if you don't take some artistic license? Anywho. Thanks for the correction on Chagny, I was beginning to suspect that.

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **Where is this party happening? Seriously, your reviews have got me in stitches. But I'm not sure the new guy—Jean-Paul, as he is now called—is finished here. We'll see.

**Solecito: **Oh, Nadir is going in on the anti-Christine campaign. He'll be their manager. I'm surprised by how many people have read Kay's book, considering how rare it is. (waves) See you, next review.

**shibbydm: **Sure! Just tell me where the phic is.

**tink8812: **I hate "Pomp and Circumstance!" Played it fifty times in a row! About the lilies, it is Erik who smells like lilies. In an earlier chapter I mention that smell. I always wondered what death smelled like, and I figured it might be open to interpretation. Ever since my great-grandpa's funeral (I was really young) I have associated the smell of stargazer lilies w/ death, appropriate, because lilies represent death. It's a distinct, strong, sharp odor, that is not necessarily pleasant. (gasps for air)

**Songwind: **You know, that Moose Day thing was no lie. I saw something about it on T.V. once and it had me rolling on the floor.

**Cap'n Meg: **(blushes) Thanks! Welcome to the phamily.

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **I'm just being difficult. Of course, there will be a happy ending. Erik gets enough sad endings as it is. (Erik: Thank you!)

**Nameless Waif: **(Bids Anna to curtsey for reviewer) That's her way of saying thank you. About anorexic Erik, I have no idea why he's like that, but he's not exactly normal, so…yeah. The ratcatcher is from the original book, he helped with the opera's rodent population.

**Lenis Vox: **Yeah, I can be a bit slow sometimes. Have fun camping!

**Neko: **No telling when Anna and Erik will be 'official.' But I will be doing more with Brooke and Raoul, esp. when Cecily and the hobbits show up.

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **I have that shirt, too. Isn't it awesome? Scares the crap out of my lil sis at night.

**His Mask: **That's Erik's greatest fault. He cannot see how attractive he really is.

**Marianne Brandon: **"Van Helsing" did suck, huh? But you know, you have inspired a whole new chapter (don't know when I'll put it in), that will really help wake Erik up. So thank you. Anna thanks you, too.


	39. The New Patroness

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. Duh.

**Solecito: **Lilies come in all kinds of colors. Stargazers are Oriental lilies with pink petals edged in white and dotted dark red near the center. Casablancas are my favorite, (big white ones) just because they share their name with my favorite movie.

**Nameless Waif: **Thank you again. I am so glad you like this phic so much. As for the Stargazer lilies, they are frequently used in florist shops. I described them in the review reply above.

**Silvermasque: **(wails) I know! 'Twas very long indeed, but I had to get it out. The Gerry was grumbling at me the whole time…speaking of Gerry. Hmm, Gerry and ice cream…oh, yeah. Hey, DBCA sounds cool although I don't completely understand. Is it a part of your fic? I do love lots of the darlings on your list though. Erik (duh), Snape, Jack Sparrow, and Darth Vader (Episodes 4-6 only). As for Gabriel Van Helsing, I have to admit that I think he's a loser.

**aragornnme: **(GASP!) You have never read the wonderful insanity that is _Hitchhiker's? _(dies) It is sheer brilliance on a cosmic scale. Movie was hysterical, too. I feel so bad about that "crushing reply" quote because some other people really liked it and I did not think it up. (blushes and hides in the Gerry's shirt). I got it from a Christmas movie, if you can believe it. Oh, yeah, got Erik quoting _White Christmas. _

**Lenis Vox: **So glad to be of help in lightening your mood. As for popping Christine, feel free as long as she's still alive and as long as you clean up the mess because I don't imagine it would be very pretty.

**Ellen: **All credit "The Gerry" title goes to my dear friend Phantress. If Gerry himself ever stumbles across this phic I hope he'll take it as an endearing compliment. I am pleased to be giving you such a good impression of phanphiction. There are many stories out there that are far better than mine, so you should be well pleased with some of the others out there. As far as recommended reading lists: I myself am on a Jane Austen binge right now. I love her. I am very much a classics person. I also love children's literature and fantasy. _Chronicles of Narnia _is my fav. _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, LOTR, Harry Potter. _Jack London, Edgar Allen Poe, John Steinbeck, Amy Tan are some good authors to check out. It all depends on your taste though. Just start picking up stuff from your library's fiction section.

**Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: **(sweeps a bow) Thanks.

**speechdisappearsintosilence: **Dear speechdisappearsintosilence, I should warn you that excessive praise may be damaging to Misty's character. It is giving her such a bloated ego, it is near impossible to live with her. Sincerely, The Gerry.

**lady summoner2: **Brooke mutters and pens a quick note: _Sushi from ceiling. _

**SimplyElymas: **Haha! Thank you. Love to you as well.

**Sirius Is My King: **Welcome to the Phandom! Always a pleasure to have another lunatic—I mean, another loving phan onboard. And the Phantom is sexy. I have no idea what was wrong with Christine's sexy sensors.

**OneWhoSiteWithTheTurtles: **You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking my request for suggestions seriously. The truthg-or-dare thing is a good idea. I'll probably use, maybe half-serious, half-fun. But thank you so much again and again.

**The OneTruePhantom: **Well, I know now! I'm kind of new to HGTTG.

**Melissa Aminta: **As much as I love the compliment of Erik being proud of this, I honestly think he'd kill me for it. LOL. I love him though. As for me and Gerry, thanks for asking. We are getting along beautifully. He's curled up on my beanbag, sipping hot chocolate and reading. (Don't I just wish)

**ShaShiSar221: **I missed the randomness, too. It will be fluctuating depending on what I feel like writing or what the phic calls for. There will probably be a lot more until some good seriousness crops up.

**Pleading Eyes: **Shush! You're giving away my plot! (Gerry: You said you didn't have one. Misty: Quiet. I said I didn't understand it). The buddy moment is a good idea. Will keep in mind.

**Music Angel no.24601: **I understand. Okay, don't kill me, but I've never seen Les Mis on stage, never read the book. I just bought the soundtrack and have seen the Liam Neeson version, which I totally adore. My folks have seen the musical (pouts).

**Sarah: **Thanks and welcome to the phamily! I'm afraid I don't know what ddr is.

**smgirl: **Attraction is still there. It's just in a slow-cooker.

**His Mask: **Thank you so much for the reassurance.

**Beregond'sGirl: **The idea is that Anna and Brooke have sung that song before to terrorize the ballet rats and they were reacting to its reappearance.

**Marianne Brandon: **OMG! I think that's the best thing I've heard thus far! _My _Erik receives approval. (runs around in happy circles and makes the Gerry give Marianne a kiss). yeah! Must admit (blushes) I borrow that "crushing reply" line from the movie _White Christmas. _

**Songwind: **I have no idea when or _Why _(which may be the more important question) they celebrate Moose Day. Crazy Americans celebrate everything.

**Atressa O'Riordan: **Welcome to the phamily. I hope the A/N from last chapter explains the premise and plot for the phic. It's a work-in-progress to say the least.

**ania potter-malfoy: **The cat-bird feathers thing is a simile meant to give the idea that Brooke looks smugly satisfied with her haunting abilities.

**OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: **(scratches head) I'm very chat room illiterate. So I have no idea how this party deal works. It's a hilarious idea though. And I do like muffins, chocolate chip ones.

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THE NEW PATRONESS

Erik was beside him self with curiosity and suspicion. For sometime, the cousins had been frequenting the costume department. They had every employee of that department scared out of their wits and refusing to eat fish. But the haunting was not what had Erik in such wretched suspense. It was the terrible little thought in his mind that the cousins were up to something, and if there was anything he had learned from living with Anna and Brooke, it was that it was best to pay attention when they were "up to something."

Thus, one morning, Erik took to following Anna about their house, inquiring after the recent fascination with the costume department.

"You and Brooke have been spending an awful lot of time in the costume department lately," Erik said, following Anna into the kitchen.

"So?" She busied herself with pulling the laundry down from the clothesline Erik had constructed for them.

"So, why the sudden interest?" He towered beside her, hoping to intimidate her into spilling the beans. She did drop one of his clean shirts on the floor, but that was in response to the pleasant flutter she felt at having him stand so near as she did something as simple as pull down the laundry. The situation had a comforting, domestic quality about it, and, fortunately, this did not escape Erik's notice entirely.

"You know how much Brooke likes costumes," Anna finally answered him. The young woman hastily brushed a few specks of dirt from the shirt. Erik arched an eyebrow at her, visible this time because he never wore his mask when it was just he and the girls at home.

"I do know. I also know that neither of you showed half as much interest in the costume department during the preparations for the masque as you do now."

Anna dumped the clean clothes into a wicker basket and toted the whole thing out of the room, cradling it against her hip. "What, exactly, are you implying, Erik?"

He trailed her to the sitting room, where Brooke awaited the laundry basket, her own little pile of garments sitting beside her.

"I'm implying that you two little terrors are up to something and I want to know what it is."

The redhead poured out the clothes and sank down beside Brooke. She snatched up a pair of Erik's trousers, but found she had to stand again to fold them because they were too long.

Brooke's sparkling green eyes flicked up to regard her cousin, "He wants to know what we're up to, Anna?"

Anna took up the game, cocking her head to the side, like a dog pondering a puzzling sound, "Does he now? Well, I must admit I don't know what to say. I'm not up to anything." She glared at Brooke. "Are you?"

The brunette looked offended. "I most certainly am not! Really, Erik, if you're going to pick a fight, you might as well join the laundry party while you're at it." She held out a pair of cotton bloomers to him.

Erik snorted disdainfully, "Women's work! You're funny, Brooke."

Anna chucked a bundle of socks at him. Erik ducked to avoid the projectile, then settled into a chair, and told the girls stories as they folded the laundry. He hadn't given up though; he was simply biding his time. When Anna trotted into the master bedroom to change into her haunting apparel, Erik followed.

"Anna, tell me what is going on. You're planning something, I know it!"

"Not telling."

"Do I have to use force?"

"HA!"

Erik growled. "Please?"

"Nope."

He almost followed her into the purple tent, but a small hand pressed against his chest stopped him.

"Stay," she commanded. The Phantom halted, blushing slightly at his near mistake. Anna disappeared into the tent and Erik could hear her rustling about as she changed clothes. To his utmost embarrassment, she threw her gown out the opening and onto his head.

Erik spluttered indignantly and ripped the heavy garment from his person. He barely had time to reason between the pros and cons of having a woman throw her dress at him, when a petticoat sailed toward him, followed by a corset. The Phantom _almost _squeaked in horror as he jumped out of the way. Light snickering caught his ears.

He fumed. She was going to pay for her impertinence and revenge just happened to be crawling along his coffin in the form a huge, ugly, grey spider. Grinning wickedly, Erik scooped up the arachnid and, whistling softly to himself, he tossed the bug into the tent.

The whole room exploded into chaos the next second.

"_OH MY…..EEEEEEEEEEEERIK!" _Anna screamed at the top of her lungs. The girl shot out of the tent in her chemise and bloomers, dancing about the room in utter panic as she desperately tried to shake the spider from her. It was the most amazing thing the Opera Ghost had ever witnessed. Brooke rushed in to see what the ruckus was about. She found her cousin breaking down with hysterics and Erik doubling over with honest, open laughter. Then she saw the traumatized spider making a speedy beeline for the nearest exit. The brunette yelped and ran out the room again.

Erik's body was wracked with hiccups and snorts as he tried to hold in his laughter. He managed to recover his senses in time to avoid _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, _as is came soaring at his head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Some hours later, Brooke and Anna left the costume department. This time Brooke clutched several swatches of fabric in her hand. Anna followed after her, still twitching and shrinking from every sudden noise or movement.

"Will you stop being so skittish?" Brooke hissed. "You're making me nervous."

"Sorry," Anna replied as she shied away from a swaying rope.

"Maybe we should find Jean-Paul so that you can take your fear out on him."

"Heh, heh, maybe."

Fortunately for Jean-Paul, who was still recovering from the sandbag incident, the girls were distracted from hunting him out when they came across the Persian. With stealthy silence that rivaled the Phantom's, they crept up behind the daroga and poked his shoulders.

The grown man managed to cut off an embarrassingly girly shriek before it attracted too much attention. Whirling about, expecting to look up into Erik's blazing eyes, he was obviously surprised to gaze down at the Raven and the Spirit.

"Hello, M. Khan." Anna whispered.

"Allah! Haven't you learned that it is impolite to sneak up on people like that? I'd expect it of Erik, but not of you," Nadir said.

Brooke shrugged, "Erik's a bad influence, what can I say. Waiting for ballet practice to be over?"

"No! Absolutely not. What gives you that idea?" the Persian hurriedly answered, his ruddy face flushing.

Anna leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to her cousin, "Me thinks he doth protest too much."

"Ay. The reason we suspect so, sir, is because you are standing outside the entrance to the ballet room."

Before he could reply, the sound of approaching humans caused the girls to dart into the shadows and slip behind a hollowed column. They were about to shut the sliding door behind them when a strangely familiar trio of voices stopped them. Around the corner came the managers, leading a tour for a new patroness and her valets. It was none other than Cecily Cheney with Pip and Que in tow.

Though Cecily's family was not titled, they were as wealthy as the de Chagnys. Thus, the young woman wore only the latest fashions when in town. She looked stunning in a deep blue day dress, a smart, feathered bonnet titled at a rakish angle. On the other hand, the poor former stable hands were looking as uneasy as penguins in a polar bear cage. Cecily had forced them to wear the family's livery: horrid, stuffy suits of cobalt and mustard yellow.

"Those are the most revolting colors I have ever seen," Brooke whispered. Anna made a yakking noise to display her agreement.

M. Andre (again movie characters cuz they just work) was prattling on about the muse motifs used throughout the opera house.

Anna huffed, "As if _he _knows what he's talking about. Erik must have an internal B.F. every time he hears that coxcomb talk about 'motifs.'"

"Probably thinks motifs have something to do with the hairstyles on the muses."

Cecily was listening to the ranting man with an air of haughty, distant interest, as befit a lady of her rank. To a more observant person, it was apparent that she was doing this for show, not because of any inclination in her real character. Of course, the managers did not know this. They persisted in making a profuse demonstration of the beauty and efficiency of the Opera Populaire and in brown-nosing whenever possible.

As the little group came upon the ballet room, Cecily allowed her gaze to drift and eventually spied the foreign gentleman standing beside the door. A strange light of recognition flickered in her grey eyes and she immediately broke away from her party to approach the Persian. Nadir was obviously startled by her notice and stiffened with wariness as she held out a gloved hand to him.

"Bonjour, monsieur. What is your position here at the opera house?" the lady began. Her servants followed like obedient puppies.

The managers were not far behind, interfering before Nadir could get out a word in reply. "Oh, my dear mademoiselle, you don't want to touch that. Never know where it's been. Now, here is the ballet room—"

Cecily would not be deterred, "But _who _is this gentleman? A ballerina's patron?"

M. Firmin leaned into whisper loudly, "He is a strange fellow, Mlle. Cheney, always hangs about the place. He is known only as the Persian." Speaking in a louder voice, "Now here is the ballet room!"

The managers prepared the to lead the way into Mme. Giry's domain. Instead of immediately following, Cecily turned to hissed something into the ears of her wooden valets. The boys nodded in response, their new hats flopping on their heads as their mistress disappear into the room. Pip and Que looked rather disappointed to be left out of the visit to the scantily clad ballerinas.

Que cast about for a place to nap. Shuffling and mumbling most dejectedly, Pip moved to address the Persian. "Pardon, sir. M'lady wood like ta have a ward w'ye some time. This evenin' a'roight?"

Nadir blinked for a moment as he tried to process the sentence. When at last he had comprehended the message he replied, "It would be my pleasure."

They proceeded to make the arrangements of the meeting. Brooke was anxious to hear them, but Anna was tugging at her cloak.

"Brooke, we have to get back to the house. It's nearly supper time and we haven't fixed Erik's dinner yet."

"You go. I'll catch up."

"You know we can't separate! The Phantom will birth a hippo."

"He doesn't have to know!"

"He'll find out and you know it. Now let's go."

"Fine." Brooke shut the column door. As she turned to follow Anna into the darkness, she wondered aloud, "Why do you suppose Cecily brought the hobbits here?"

"I don't know. Should we be suspicious?"

"They know about us."

"Holy cow." The redhead stopped dead in her tracks. "Brooke, you don't think _she _knows?"

"Who can say, but if she does, or if Erik suspects anything it could put her in danger."

"He won't do anything to Cecily," Anna protested.

"Anna, I know you really, really like Erik—in _that _way—but you can't deny what he's done or what he's capable of doing again."

"I know."

Brooke sensed her cousin's shoulders drooping beneath her worry. To lighten the mood and change the subject, the brunette quipped, "Of course, now that Cecily's around, perhaps we could convince the dear, old Ghost to let us venture to the outside world every now and then."

This was obviously said with Raoul de Chagny in mind and, therefore, did nothing, but sink Anna's spirits further.

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**A/N: **For anyone who didn't see _White Chicks, _a B.F. is not a "boyfriend" or a "brain fart." It's a "bch fit."


	40. Commander Cecily's Base of Operation

Misty slumped in her swivel chair and continually banged her forehead against her desk. In front of her, a little white laptop glowed with irritating apathy. This was the scene that greeted the Gerry as he strolled into Misty's den, munching on a handful of cherries. He nearly choked on the pits in his effort to avoid laughing.

Sidling up to the distraught Authoress, he asked, "Having problems?"

Misty paused to wail, "Yeeeeeeees!" _BANG!_

"Don't do that, my dear. It's not as if a deformed homicidal madman has asked you to choose between marriage to him and death to an entire opera house of people," the Gerry remarked.

"If that was my problem, I can assure you it wouldn't be a problem…did that make sense?"

"No."

"WAH!" Misty made to resume her head banging, but the Gerry intervened, pulling the swivel chair and its occupant out of reach of the desk. He bent to give her a kiss and fed her a cherry. When Misty looked dreamily placated, the Phantom turned his attention to the computer screen. There was a word document opened, but it was blank.

"Writer's block?"

"Yes," Misty moaned. Suddenly, she fixed her beloved with a burning glare, "And you're supposed to be my muse. Why aren't you working?" She poked him as if she expected to find a switch that would trigger the Gerry's inspiration mode.

He caught her hand in mid-poke and gave her a warning look. "How is dear Cecily doing, my love?" he purred, playing with her fingers as he dangled another cherry for her like fish bait on a hook.

"THAT'S IT!" Misty shrieked triumphantly, shooting to her feet, purple robe billowing and frightening the Buffalo Bill patrol socks. She danced in a happy circle and gave the Gerry a quick glomping before plopping herself back into the swivel chair and setting to work on Chapter 40 of _Phantom Companions._

"You're welcome," the Gerry sighed, rubbing lipstick from his cheeks as he curled up on his beanbag and finished off the cherries.

XXXXXXXXXX

COMMANDER CECILY'S BASE OF OPERATION

It is a well-known fact that old, ancient families, particularly of the fictional caliber, have secrets. Deep, dark secrets, usually in connection with torrid affairs, buried treasure, and/or treason to the crown. Those that fall into the fictional category sometimes have the misfortune of also falling into the category that includes the mother of all Mary Sues: the harlequin heroine and, of course, her icky, hunky, roguish bad boy, whom, personally, I would love to see toasted in Erik's torture chamber and served with orange marmalade. Sadly, some of the non-fictional families fall into this category as well.

Luckily for all of you reading this, the Cheney family fell into another category, that of the secret society sort. The Cheney lineage was truly ancient, dating back to the days before Rome fell. As is to be expected, men had dominated it; strong-willed, hard-eyed, gruff men who cherished their secret societies and relished a good brandy shared with comrades. I shall not attempt to describe the details or give you a history of the family tree because it is all irrelevant, and if you know anything about ancient, fictional families to begin with, then you will understand what I am rambling about.

Unfortunately for the late M. Georges Pierre Cheney, the sole male heirs to the Cheney fortune and secrets were two of the stupidest, (nearly) foppiest boys in Paris. How Dominic and Jacques came to be such disappointments is still a mystery. One thing was certain though, the secret of the secret society must be passed on and that left M. Cheney only one option: his daughter.

Needless to say, there had been many cries of outrage from amongst M. Cheney's comrades. But M. Cheney was actually rather proud of Cecily. She was clever and elegant, efficient and levelheaded and was known to down a tumbler of good brandy every once in awhile. Thus, Cecily was appointed heiress of the entire family fortune and left as guardian of the family secret. Dominic and Jacques had been supplied with ample dowries and were none the wiser for it.

Having bored you with such information, dear readers, it should come as no surprise that the Cheney townhouse was equipped with some hidden chambers of its own.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Cecily swept into her study with a rustle of muslin and lace. She tugged off her bonnet and cloak, tossing them into the chair at the enormous mahogany desk. Pip and Que were not far behind her. They stood by, squirming in their itchy livery, as the mistress of the house stepped up to the large bookcase. It was a full-wall affair, lined with many formidable-looking, leather bound first editions, but the raven-haired girl wasted no time in pushing in the complete works of Percy Shelley to trigger the opening mechanism of the secret door to the secret chamber.

A blast of ice-cold air hit the room like a spirit rising from the grave and the servants shivered fearfully as Cecily lit an oil lamp.

"Come along!" she called as she started down the dark, cobwebby hall.

The hobbits edged toward the sinister opening with great trepidation. They halted when they reached the end of the thick carpet of the study floor and the beginning of the cold flagstone of the secret hall.

Pip gulped, "Wood ye like ta go ferst?" He stepped aside, making a sweeping gesture as he graciously offered for Que to take the lead.

"Oh, no, ye'd best do the leadin', Pip," the sleepy-eyed boy, replied.

"Cartainly not! Aftar you, if ye please." Pip shoved Que forward and Que returned the favor.

"No, aftar you!"

"Aftar you."

"Reelly, I think yer the best leader."

"No, tis yerself fer sure."

"Would you two quit wasting time and get down here!" a thundering female voice interrupted the struggle. The boys looked up to see their mistress towering over them as though she were an angry goddess. Shaking like leaves in an autumn breeze, the hobbits nervously skittered into the dimly lit darkness, nearly fainting with fright when the great stone door slid shut behind them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The secret chamber was an impressive room. It was a cavernous room, built with multiple purposes in mind. The first being the need for sanctuary in the case of an emergency, and the second being the need for a base of operations. Should it survive into the twenty-first century, it would, no doubt, be outfitted with the latest and best in networking technology.

As it was, the room actually looked pretty spiffy. It was filled with levers and pulleys, weird gizmos and maps and books, like a chamber from _Myst. _Most of this had been in place for some decades, updated frequently by its owners. The overall decoration of the place certainly bore the hallmarks of a woman's touch. It had been repainted and redecorated as suited the present occupant's fanciful feminine tastes. Cecily favored the color blue and had installed a vault for her diary, a vanity table whose mirror reflected the thin stream of sunlight from the chinks in the walls onto the rest of the room, and a hutch for her embroidery projects.

Pip and Que gasped in awe as they stumbled into the intriguing room. Their eyes grew wide and they immediately forgot their fear.

"Explore, if you like, but do not touch," was all Cecily said as she set her lamp upon a handsome desk in one corner. The hobbits eagerly trotted about the room, peering at the instruments and cables. It all seemed impossibly complex, but Mlle. Cheney was obviously more at home here than in that sterile, stuffy house several floors over their heads.

There were several smaller chambers shooting off from the main hub. One door led to a lady's bedchamber, another to a storage room stuffed with provisions, but the third door led to the best room of all. It was no more than a cubbyhole, but the tiny space brought tears to the boys' eyes. A set of bunk beds took up most of the room and a sack of apples and a jug of ale sat atop a low bench.

Pip sighed with relief as he uncorked the jug and raised it to his lips. The brown liquid was high quality liquor, not like the sour moonshine they drank in the stables of the Seaside Inn. The blond imp passed the jug to his friend as he snatched up a shiny red apple and pulled out his trusty deck of dog-eared cards.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Cecily smiled as she heard her servants settling into their little apartment. She swished about the room, making sure all was in order before getting down to work. Activating a series of pulley systems, she sat in a high backed chair at the desk and waited until the pulleys had lowered the desired case onto the desk. Using a seemingly inconsequential bauble, she unlocked the chest and drew out its contents:

One first-edition _The Matchmaker's Guide the POTO Galaxy _

Cecily lifted the book with a great sense of reverence. _The Guide _was as thick as an Oxford English Dictionary, chalk full of rules, regulations, and guidelines that were usually observed by the Phantom's phaithful phollowers. It even contained copies of Leroux's original novel and the lyrics to the ALW musical. The Gerry had also included a thick insert: profiles on Anna and Brooke, complete with the story of their arrival. On the hard leather cover there glittered a golden mask, flanked by a scorpion and a grasshopper.

Cecily cracked open the enormous volume to the table of contents. Steel grey eyes scanned the stiff parchment; near the bottom of the page she spied the page number for "Valuable Contacts and Allies." The book wad promptly turned to page 394 where the anonymous editor had jotted down a list of contacts that would be particularly useful in assisting Cecily's mission. Nadir Khan was number one.

After a moment's reflection, Cecily carefully laid the book aside and pulled out a blank sheet of paper, a pen and an inkwell. She penned a quick note, blowing on the ink before folding the sheet and sealing it with a gob of blue wax. The seal was not her traditional family crest; it was the code symbol for her father's secret society. _Time to put **my **contacts to use, _she thought.

A loud buzzing noise startled Pip and Que into a flurry of confusion. The raggedy cards took to the air like molting birds and the hobbits frantically searched for the source of the noise. Que was certain it was a hornet.

"Nonsense, Que. 'Ornets don liff undarneaf ta ground!" Pip cried.

"Are ye cartain, Pip? Whoa! There it goes again!" Que ducked to avoid the imagined insect.

Cecily poked her black head into the disarrayed cubbyhole.

"Oh, Miss Cecily, there's a 'ornet in ta room!" Pip hollered.

"No, Master Pip, that would be the bell that summons you to me," Cecily replied.

"Oh."

The young heiress continued, "Change into your street clothes. I have an errand for you to run. It is of a highly private nature, do you understand?" She gave them a significant look.

Pip gave her a rakish wink and nodded his comprehension. Que wagged his drowsy head. When the hobbits emerged from their room, they were dressed in their old, Dickensian garb, complete with ratty caps.

Cecily handed the blond boy the note. "You are to take this note to the address on the front."

Pip examined the inscription. He wrinkled his nose. "Ah, Miss Cecily, we ain't much fer readin'."

"Wot we do read ain't nuffin' but ta King's English," Que added.

"I see," Cecily growled. "Well, I want you to take it to the detective agency on Rue Crumpet. Make sure you personally hand this to M. Moncrieff. Do NOT give to anyone else!"

The hobbits nodded, their eyes fearfully wide. They knew how to handle shady transactions, but there was a hard gleam in Cecily's grey eyes that frightened them. She showed them the way out to the street and gave the strictest instructions as to secrecy and haste. Satisfied, Cecily returned to her underground chamber to lock up the _The Guide _and went to her official bedroom to ready herself for her appointment with Nadir Khan later that evening.

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**A/N: **Sorry for the delayed update. I got sick and have to deal with getting to move out, but I hope you all enjoyed it. No Erik or cousins, but we can't have everything.

**Pleading Eyes: **I hope you got my review on _My Father, the Fop, _which responded to your most delightful offer. Just in case you didn't…I'll reply again.

Name: Misty Breyer works…Misty for short.

Age: 20

Hair: Very long, hopelessly straight, and just plain brown.

Eyes: Never sure…some times they're brown, sometimes they're light green.

Hobbies: Writing, of course, reading and sewing.

Personality: Very intelligent, wicked sense of humor, easily amused by the strangest things, optimistic, very begrudging towards Raoul and Christine, starting to fancy EM pairings…love, love, love, Erik, but I am actually a good deal more conservative than I sound (bark is worse than bite sort of thing)

Thanks for the honor. Please have fun with it! Can't wait!

**LiTTLoTTe1991, Solecito **(_Thanks for the suggestions, but I can't access the site!)_**Childofthewilderness, Shibbydm, lady summoner2, SimplyElymas, Nameless Waif **_(I am an crazy American, too…and I just love celebrating Independence Day by blowing things up! MWAHA!)_**Bananas in Pajamas, Songwind, Danica, Lirieleris, smgirl, Music Angel no.24601, TheOneTruePhantom** (_Gerry kiss for you for reviewing every chapter!)_**easternelvenlady, Cap'n Meg, Erik for President, gerbear, Voldemort's Hikari, Tian Sirki, Marianne Brandon **(_absolutely adored your review! The cousins were pleased)_**Silvermasque **(_Send some more info on the DBCA)_**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles, xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx, Beregond'sGirl, Lenis Vox **(_offers antiseptic for mental image), _**Sirius Is My King, CoolGirlEmily, Melissa Aminta **thanks everybody for the reviews and support! I know I usually give out more detailed responses, but I can't do it all the time.


	41. A Spoonful of Sugar

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.

(gleefully rubs hands together and chuckles manically to self) Ve are approaching 1,000 reviews, precious. Yes, ve are. MWAHAHA!

The Gerry: Misty darling, are you okay?

Perfectly fine, my love…why?

XXXXXXXXXXX

A SPOONFUL OF SUGAR

Anna bounced into the sitting room and announced with peppy enthusiasm, "I'm going to bake chocolate chip cookies."

Brooke jumped up from her chair by the fire, "Oh, fun!" They bounded into the kitchen. Erik blinked and returned to the sheet music in his hands. Christine was due for a visit later that evening and he would have to have her lesson prepared. However, he was not allowed to proceed in peace and quiet.

In the kitchen, Anna's computer sat on an overturned basket, blasting the girls' characteristically odd assortment of music. Right now an especially irritating little tune was grating on Erik's nerves.

The cousins sang at the top of their lungs:

_Toot sweets! Toot sweets!_

_A bon-bon to blow on,_

_At last has been found._

_Toot sweets! Toot sweets!_

_With tweetable, eatable sound!_

Erik had to admit that the improved quality of their voices was much less noxious than their old, unembarrassed shriekings. The musical maestro noted that though the girls' tone and range left much to be desired, the happy confidence with which they used their new talent lent their voices an almost irresistible charm.

_Though licorice is chewy,_

_And gumdrops are gooey,_

_And chocolate is charming to crunch,_

_That savory fife,_

_The sweet of your life,_

_Is really the best of the bunch!_

But charm had its limits. Erik stormed into the kitchen. He found his little friends with their sleeves rolled to their elbows as they measured out the dry ingredients.

"Must you torment me so?" he cried.

"Aw, are we _that _cute?" Anna snarked. She grinned at him, her nose smudged with flour. Erik's mouth twitched in a slight smile.

"I mean the music!"

"What's wrong with it?" Brooke asked as she dumped a teaspoon of salt into a large wooden bowl on the old oak table.

"It's annoyingly happy."

"It's good to be annoyingly happy sometimes," Anna reasoned. "Don't you think a little annoying happiness might do you some good, Erik? Get you to wind down before the bug-ey…I mean, Christine shows up."

Erik glared balefully at her before whirling on his heel and clicking the skip button on iTunes. Unfortunately, the next song was worse than the first as it turned out to be "A Spoonful of Sugar." Anna and Brooke watched with unabashed amusement as the Phantom's shoulders tensed with mounting irritability. Snarling and swearing, he simply quit the program altogether.

A unified and indignant protest rose from the girls, "HEY!"

"It is my home, my _kingdom. _And as king in this underworld, _I _make the rules. And the rules say thou shall not play annoyingly happy songs in my presence," Erik said. His voice threatening and low. He didn't frighten the girls though; it was just that time of the week for him. Every time Christine came to visit, Erik was on edge, as crabby as an old tabby cat.

"Well, your royal PMSiness, may I, your humble servant, inquire if these rules include any right of the people to protest such barbaric tyranny?" Brooke asked. Fortunately, Erik still had no idea what PMS meant (we'll leave him happy in his ignorance…for now).

Erik considered snapping at the precocious brunette for her sarcasm, but as he found her amusing he decided to indulge her with an affirmative answer. He instantly regretted it.

Brooke and Anna immediately dusted him with four fistfuls of unbleached whole-wheat flour. Spluttering, stammering, and snorting Erik shook his head violently, sending clouds of the baking ingredient into the air. His thin hair hung about his hideous face, now coated in snowy powder, his blue eyes ringed in white instead of black. He appeared so startled and confused that Anna nearly lost her self-control and almost kissed away the flour.

As the dynamic duo shared a hearty laugh at the expense of their dear ghost, Erik recollected himself. With eerie calm, he glided across the room, circling the huge table, apparently inspecting the gathered cookie ingredients. He was already standing behind them when Anna and Brooke choked on their laughter, glancing nervously over their shoulders. Only when it was too late did they realize two eggs were missing from the carton.

_CRACK!_

The Angel of Music firmly smashed an egg on each female head, even drying his hands on their blouse sleeves. The girls stood frozen in place as rivulets of yoke snaked down their foreheads, around their noses, and over their cheeks.

"You were right, Anna, being annoyingly happy is strangely relieving," Erik quipped. She glared at him.

"You'd better get on with your baking, ladies," he added, kindly pointing them back to their task. He meant to leave, but a sweet invitation stopped him.

"Stay with us," Anna asked. Erik turned to stare at her. She gave him a shy grin, cracking the dried egg and flour on her cheeks. Brooke's smile reinforced the offer. Shrugging elegantly, Erik came to stand by the table and watched the proceedings.

The dry ingredients were set aside and two tubs of sugar were brought forward, one filled with white, the other with brown.

"Do you want some brown sugar," Brooke asked, holding a spoonful of the crumbling brown sweetness out to Erik.

"You mean you eat it…um, raw?"

"Heck, yes!"

Warily, he took the spoon. He hesitated a moment, observing as Anna tilted her head back to dump a pinch of the stuff into her own mouth. Judging from her giddy pleasure, the sugar tasted good. Erik stuck the spoon in his mouth. A heavenly taste flooded his senses, the sugar melting onto his tongue, coating it with its delightful syrupiness. He swallowed.

"That was amazing!"

Brooke shoved the brown sugar bowl to him, "Have some more, but take care you don't get a stomachache."

"Try this, too!" Anna said, offering Erik a spoonful of vegetable shortening. He stared at the suspiciously vague white glop, then at her, indicating by his eyes that he thought she was crazy.

"What is that?"

"Vegetable shortening."

Brooke hissed and recoiled, "Don't eat it, Erik!"

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's evil!"

Pushing at Brooke's shoulder, Anna argued, "It is not evil. Try it, Erik."

"No! It's like zit puss."

"This zit puss is going into _your _cookies," Anna waved the shortening spoon at her best friend. Brooke snatched up an empty spoon and held it defensively.

"Oh, yeah…well, I'll cut your heart out with a spoon!"

"Why a spoon, cousin, why not an ax or a…"

"Because it's dull, you twit, it'll hurt more!"

"SHUT UP!" Erik roared. "Give me that." He grabbed the shortening spoon and—much to Brooke's horror—ate the shortening.

Erik frowned, "It doesn't taste like…anything."

"See! I told you!" the cousins cried in unison.

Then came the debate about milk or dark chocolate chips. Erik thought the milk chocolate best, but the girls were adamant in their protests.

"Dark chocolate is better for you anyways," Anna said.

"Then why did you even bother pulling this out of the Poppins Bag?" Erik asked, holding up a bag of his preferred chips.

"Good question."

"Do you have a good answer?"

"No."

"You know, Erik," Brooke put in, "You should have an affinity for dark chocolate considering that some of your phans think you taste like it."

Cold blue eyes gazed at her with contempt, "That does nothing to help your argument. In fact, it frightens me…Besides, I taste like flour right now."

"Here…let's do it this way." Erik reached over to the largest bowl, which now held the creamy dough, and divided the dough into two equal halves with his bare hands, placing the lumps into separate bowls. "There. One for milk chocolate. One for dark chocolate."

Brooke and Anna gaped in horror.

"Ew! You touched it with your hands!" the brunette squealed.

"So what?"

"So, that's unsanitary."

"You just stuck your grubby fingers into the brown sugar and shortening! _And _you've been eating the raw dough anyway."

It was in the middle of this latest argument that Christine walked through the door to the Rue Scribe entrance. Her bulging eyes met with the oddest of sights: Erik sitting at a kitchen table, covered in flour, and the cousins smeared with egg, the shells still stuck in their hair, all arguing over a batch of cookie dough. It took a double take for her to realize that Erik was not wearing his mask.

She let out a small shriek, "Erik, your mask!"

Immediately, Erik's flour stained visage took on a sickly hue. Shamefaced and angry, he fled from the kitchen to find his mask, unwittingly leaving Christine at the mercy of the cousins.

Anna was so hopping mad the egg on her head nearly began to fry. Seizing the last of the eggs, she marched up to Christine.

"What the heck did you have to embarrass him like that for?" she snarled.

"I can't help it if he's uglier than sin!"

"But he's your teacher and a human being."

"Don't get righteous with me. You only put up with him because you've nowhere else to go. I think you're envious of the influence I have over him," Christine sneered.

Anna slammed the egg carton on her frizzy brown head. Brooke was not far behind with the rest of the flour. When Erik returned to the kitchen, clean and masked, to claim his student, he found her tarred and feathered and, for some reason, he didn't care.

"Want some cookie dough?" Anna asked. Erik took the offered blob, munching on it as he led a miserable Christine to the Louis-Phillipe room.

XXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Huzzah for quick updates. This was just one of those random pieces. I hope you all enjoyed it. "Toot Sweets" was from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang _and "A Spoonful of Sugar" is from _Mary Poppins. _I don't own either one, but I do adore those movies, I just don't think Erik would have the same appreciation for them as I do.


	42. The Holy Chapter

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.

(happily pleased with self) I don't know about all of you, but I really enjoyed that last chapter. And now back to Cecily and Nadir.

**A/N: **Just a quick note on the latest edition to the HP series (no, I won't give away the ending), but just for those of you who have read it, I'd like to say that it didn't change my opinion on a certain Potions master and I'm still hoping for the best in him.

**Charlemagne: **So glad to be of assistance in reliving the course work burden. I know how that feels. And I love _Anne of Green Gables, _imagery in there is so fantastic I feel envious of the characters.

**AmnarJoey: **Ahh! No, Snape should not die! And Erik is sporting his original deformity.

**Master Darth Warious: **Welcome back! Hope you found shade in Arizona.

**Tian Sirki: **Erik will definitely be introduced to Aunt Flo. I actually had that idea already rolling around in my head, but I took your suggestion as a confirmation that it is meant to happen. Poor Erik. He won't know what hit him. And do you want to know something funny? I was eating a plum at the time I found your review! You may have something there.

**des ires: **Ack! Vat is this? You have never seen the practically perfect magicalness that is _Mary Poppins? _You have to hunt that down. It's a classic. About Anna's confession, like I said, romance is in the slow-cooker, so please give it time.

**WildPixieChild: **That was so gross…I LOVE IT! (sighs) That had me in stitches. Thank you for the donation.

**lady summoner2: **Wow, the turn on thread? I never thought of it that way, but considering that Erik is involved I can definitely see where you're coming from.

**Solecito: **No need to apologize! I'm in the process of moving myself, though not from country to country. Anywhoozles, yes, Dick Van Dyke does rock.

**Nameless Waif: **Kudos to you for getting the Robin Hood dialogue! And a Gerry kiss because you remembered the complete works of Percy Shelley, _AND _because you were so considerate about my excuse for the late update…my excuse this time: _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince._

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **Yes! Kudos for you, too. And luff to Alan Rickman and his totally awesome voice.

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **I know, I wish I could let her kiss him, but I just don't want it to be premature cuz we all know how Erik reacts to kisses. Speaking of kisses, wouldn't it be wonderful if they cloned Gerry and put him up for sale? If they did, I'd buy you one for reviewing both chapters.

**Mominator: **Thank you for the spelling check! I don't think we should ever invent a combo of cats and zits. (shudders) Unless you count road kill.

**Roaddog 469: **That line was the best one in the whole movie. BTW, is it just me or was Kevin Costner a good-looking Robin Hood? I rather liked him, but my sister says I'm crazy. (ah, well). Oh, shall definitely pass the message to the Gerry.

**FreeFaller: **Oh, no worries over the favorites list. I must admit there are several things on my list which rank above POTO: _Narnia _and _Star Wars. _

**Marianne Brandon: **How did you like the Half-Blood Prince?

**Simply Elymas: **Oh, yesh! Erik is most def. gonna find out about the monthlies.

**Mina Calypso: **I have discovered that it is good to have a healthy variety of genres when reading phanphiction.

**Nixieharpist: **You know, I almost had Erik make a remark about eggs being good for the hair, but I wasn't sure.

**Beregond'sGirl: **I wouldn't be surprised if Erik, being the inventive genius that he is, constructed his own gas-powered stove.

**Mademoiselle Phantom: **WOW! That was harsh, but totally true. I find it so hilarious that there's this congregation of rabid phans who loathe this particular character. It's just amusing…of course, I'm among them at times, depends on my mood.

**Ridel: **Thank you, I appreciate the comment on the timing of the beginning of Erik's transition because I totally agree that it gets rushed far too often.

**Atressa O'Riordan: **(gets up off the floor and wipes tears of joy from eyes) Sorry, that had me laughing so hard. Can I please use the Buggy name? That was priceless.

**Music Angel no. 24601: **Heh, heh, "I'm going to cut your heart out with a spork!" It works.

**Silvermasque: **(Eyes ice cream tub and the Gerry with wolfish gleam in eyes) What…oh, yes, review replies. After this Half-Blood Prince deal does dear Severus get to stay in the DBCA? Please say yes!

**Priestess of Anubis: **Question: Anubis was an Egyptian god, right? And thanks for the compliment!

**Bananas in Pajamas: **The idea of Erik involved in anything connected with Jackass is so evil it's hilarious. Uh, oh, here comes the punjab.

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THE HOLY CHAPTER

**Early evening: Some restaurant**

Nadir was waiting at the restaurant when Cecily arrived. He rose from his chair in the foyer and approached the beautiful Mlle. Cheney with all the caution of a snake charmer. It was not that he thought her evil in any particular way, he was simply cautious by nature, especially with Parisian women.

"Mademoiselle," he said by way of a greeting, pressing and bowing over her extended hand.

"Good evening, M. Khan, I am very glad that you could join me tonight," Cecily replied with a pretty curtsey.

A pudgy, greasy-haired waiter scuttled up to the odd couple and offered to seat them. Cecily had chosen an obscure, but fashionable little establishment not too many blocks away from the opera itself. Once settled into a comfortable corner booth, with menus in their hands, Cecily began the conversation.

"I'll get right to the point, M. Khan. I asked you to meet me here because I wish to speak to you about Erik," she said flatly.

Nadir started so badly it appeared as though a bee had stung him. Hiding behind his menu, he tried desperately to regain his composure. He silently cursed himself for reacting in such an exposing manner, but the socialite's confession had caught him completely off guard.

"Mademoiselle, you do not know what you are about," he said sternly.

"Perhaps I should elaborate. I have been appointed official matchmaker to Erik and his two companions, Anna and Brooke," Cecily explained. The mention of the cousins only increased Nadir's worry. Cecily knew, by his description on page 394 of _The Guide, _that the chief of police was a cautious, wary fellow, fully in tune with his policing instincts, crafted by a life in the treacherous Persian court.

In short, this was going to be one tough egg to crack.

But Cecily was not about to let up.

"I met M. Erik and his companions in Perros. They posed as a family of siblings on vacation. No one knew anything about them except two stable hands who had been taken into Erik's confidence. Those two are the very same servants who arranged this meeting."

She stopped when the waiter approached to take their orders and then their menus, thus depriving Nadir of his shield. He was now forced to stare the young woman straight in the face.

"Please, proceed, Mlle. Cheney," he said coldly, attempting to remain aloof.

"The phamily was joined by another friend who apparently had been sent by the greater being known only as the Authoress to detached both Erik and the Vicomte de Chagny from Christine Daaé. And then this visitor was to match Erik with Anna and the Vicomte with Brooke, but he was not able to complete the task in time. He asked me to resume his work here in Paris."

Nadir's jade eyes betrayed some interest in the subject when she named the designated couples. He thought back to the bemusing afternoon he had spent with the phamily on the day of their return to Paris. He _had _heard the name "Gerry" repeated several times. Perhaps this Gerry and the former matchmaker were one in the same?

Cecily's voice snapped the dark-skinned man from his reverie, "Unfortunately, it is rather difficult to work with a deranged reclusive ghost so I am hoping that you might help me."

Nadir bestirred himself. He glared at her for a moment as though trying to gage her sincerity. If she did know anything about the shah-in-shah's magician, then she ought to know that she was playing with fire.

Though his curiosity was piqued, Nadir remembered he was already skating on thin ice after that whole Meg-dinner-date-in-the-lair thing. So, he answered, "Erik's secrets concern no one but himself, Mlle. Cheney. And for your own sake, I suggest you drop the entire matter."

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**Around the same time: The Batcave**

"Erik? Erik?..._ERIK!" _

"Hm?...Yes, Christine?"

The soprano narrowed her bulging eyes at her willowy teacher and said, "Do you have anything to say about my performance?"

"Performance? Oh, yes, the lesson…well, I, um…perhaps you should repeat the song," Erik offered lamely. He was happy to have the mask providing a barrier between his embarrassed face and Christine's shrewd gaze. She huffed in impatience, but made no other show of protest before singing again.

Maestro and student stood near the massive organ set into one wall of the master bedroom. To the left, hidden behind a curtain of purple velvet, the cousins resumed their hushed whisperings. Erik's sensitive ears heard the delicate mumblings and he strained to listen, inching closer to the tent, under the pretense of examining Christine's posture. However, even Erik's cat-like senses could not decipher any exact words over Christine's rising pitch. It didn't help that Christine was singing in Italian and the cousins were speaking in English.

Within the stuffy tent, the girls were pouring over Brooke's latest designs for their room makeover, using the swatches of fabric they had gathered from the costume department for color ideas.

"I don't think I like this purple," Brooke said, holding a square of taffeta next to a battery-powered book lamp, revealing a hue reminiscent of wisteria.

"Um, yeah…I don't think the big P would appreciate us redoing the room like the Disneyland princess parade," Anna muttered. She studied her cousin's sketches. The plans featured another tent design; only it had been expanded and made use of collapsible dividers. Bureaus and trunks had been rearranged as well to make the space seem less tight and suffocating.

"Hey, how about this material?" Brooke said. She held up a piece of thin, white cotton.

"I like that! OMG! I just had an apostrophe!" the redhead cried.

The singing stopped and all was silent on the other side of the heavy curtains. The cousins bit their tongues, patiently waiting until the music resumed. They smirked at each other as they heard one of Erik's exasperated sighs disappear under the music.

"I think you mean an epiphany," Brooke whispered.

"Yes, yes. Anywhoozles, we should do a Lothlorien theme. You know, with the white fabrics and blue lights, everything soft and hazy and airy."

"Anna, you're a genius!"

"Thank you."

"But how are we suppose to get all of the supplies? And who will do the measurements for us? We both suck at math," Brooke pondered.

_Ehem. _It was the Poppins Bag.

"Oh, well, I guess you take care of the first problem," Anna said to the Bag.

_Actually, I can take care of both._

"The measurements? What are you part calculator now?"

_In my previous life, I was an interior designer._

"Like on _Trading Spaces?" _

…_Yes. _There was a definite undertone of resentment in the Bag's answer.

Brooke spoke in a comforting whisper, "Did you, like, not make the cut for the show?"

…_Y-yes. THEY TOOK THAT HILDE WEIRDO OVER ME! HER! WITH THE HAY AND THE FLOWERS ON THE WALLS!_

"Don't forget the feathers…and the wrapping paper," Anna put in.

Brooke stared at the indignant Bag with a look of mingled fear and amusement. "Well, let's hope you haven't lost your touch. You can do the measurements, too."

_Thanks._

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the curtain, Erik couldn't stand the suspense any longer. He might not be able to hear what mischief the girls were planning, but at least he could put a stop to it.

"That's all, Christine," he said shortly.

"But…you didn't finish critiquing me!" she whined.

Erik ignored her as he stomped towards the purple tent. He poked one arm into the darkness within. Quickly locating the desired cousin, he hauled Anna out of the tent, gripping the collar of her gown. The frazzled young woman's limbs failed about like an over-turned turtle's; she hollered and swore at Erik as she struggled to pull away from him.

"What the heck are you doing?" she shrieked.

"Time for your piano lessons."

Brooke and Christine watched in stunned silence as Erik yanked Anna out the bedroom door and shoved her toward the piano in the sitting room.

"I do not understand him. He has been in such a strange mood all evening. Quite unmanageable," Christine said, directing her musings at Brooke.

The American simply belched in her face and disappeared back into the tent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Late evening: The Cheney townhouse**

Cecily Cheney was in a foul mood when her coachman handed her out of her carriage. After warning her to steer clear of the Phantom of the Opera, Nadir Khan had clammed up on the subject, refusing to talk about anything remotely connected to it. On top of everything else, she had worked up a mighty headache in the process. The maid met Cecily at the door of the townhouse, handing her mistress a calling card before taking her cloak and hat. Cecily's pink lips curled into a knowing smile as she read the name on the card:

_Algernon Moncrieff, Private Detective._

"He's waiting in the office, ma'am," the maid said as she scurried to the coat closet. Cecily marched into the office where she found the English detective downing his third tumbler of her finest brandy.

Algernon Moncrieff was a tall, slender man, though he could not be accused of being skinny. His face was roguishly handsome, set with wicked light blue eyes and spattered with a five o'clock shadow. A heavy lock of sandy hair hung over his high forehead and the rest of his hair was as unkempt as a scarecrow's straw thatch. He wore a rumpled brown suit and his right pinky bore a ring set with the symbol of the secret society to which both he and Mlle. Cheney belonged.

He spotted the indignant Cecily over the top of his glass and waved an airy hand by way of acknowledgement. The young woman stood glowering at him until he finished the brandy.

"Good evening, Cecily, my love," he said, his French heavily tainted by his London accent. Though his cheeks were turning rosy, his speech and movement remained unaffected by the drink.

"M. Moncrieff, what are you doing in my house at this late hour, drinking my best brandy?" Cecily snarled, doing her best to seem perturbed. She stormed around the cocky Brit and threw herself into the plush chair behind the desk. Her grey eyes fixed him with a frustrated glare. The detective didn't seem to notice it as he sauntered toward her and perched himself on the desk.

"Cecily, how many times must I ask you to call me Algy?" he purred, toying with the various objects on the desk.

"Not tonight, _M. Moncrieff!_" Cecily moaned, her black head falling into her hands.

"The Persian a poor date?"

The raven-haired head came shooting up in surprise. "How did you—"

Algy waved his ringed hand dismissively, "Cecily, Cecily, _you _asked me to find out all I could about him. Don't you remember that little note your valets delivered to my office?"

"Yes, but—_Ooh!" _Cecily groaned as the throbbing headache caught up with her sudden movement. She massaged the bridge of her nose, then her temples, praying desperately that the pain would subside. She hardly noticed her guest leave the room. He returned a moment later with a glass of wine in his hand.

"Here." He thrust the glass into her hand and waited until she had swallowed enough of the ruby red liquid to calm the beating in her skull. The wine left a terrifically seductive red stain on her mouth. The detective gripped the edge of the desk.

"Now, why were _you _out with the very person you asked me to investigate?" he asked.

"Why were you tailing me?"

"I was tailing _him, _because _you _asked me to."

Cecily took another swig of wine. "I didn't ask you to tail anyone. I merely requested a background investigation of one M. Nadir Khan."

"Cecily, _I'm _the detective. I always start my investigations with a little tailing. Imagine my surprise at finding you at M. Khan's table tonight. Why, Cecily?"

Despite the accumulated frustration and the late hour and the wine, the girl still heard the note hurt feelings in Algernon's voice.

"I didn't do it to torment you, if that's what you're thinking," Cecily said, smiling coyly over the rim of her glass.

The handsome Brit leaned across the desk, reaching out to brush a stray curl out of her eyes, as he whispered, "Why would I suspect you of torment?"

Cecily hastily gulped down the rest of the wine, though the warm liquor pooling in her stomach wasn't the only thing bringing a flush to her cheeks. "No reason. But it's none of your business anyway," she rasped.

Algy pulled away. He snatched up a pen and began doodling on a black sheet of parchment. "Remember, darling, you asked me to investigate M. Khan. I find it odd that my first night on the case should produce such a baffling scene as the one I witnessed in that restaurant."

A sudden panic seized Cecily. "What did you hear?"

Algy smirked at her, his apricot lips twisting rakishly at the corners, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, Algy, I would!" The name was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The detective's eyebrows shot up. "Well, since you called me by my preferred name, I shall be candid with you, sweetheart…I didn't hear a single word. I was sitting across the room. However, I could plainly see that the conversation, whatever it entailed, did nothing to please either party. In fact, you both seemed quite angry at each other. What is going on, Cecily?"

"It's nothing you need to know about at present. I wanted to get some information out of M. Khan about someone _else. _Unfortunately, he refused to tell me anything."

"Refused _your _charms? What a cad," Algy tsked.

The heiress glared at him. He winked one sparkling blue eye at her. He added, "Then what's the point of me investigating _Khan, _when you want to find out about someone else?"

"Because I am hoping that digging up M. Khan's history may expose something about this other man."

"Why don't I just investigate this other mystery gentleman?"

Cecily laughed heartily as she imagined lanky Algy trying to navigate Erik's spider web of passages in the Opera House. "That would be an impossible task. Even for that rival of yours. What was his name again? Hemlock?...No, _Sherlock!"_

Algernon grimaced at the name of his arch London rival, saying bitterly, "Well, if dear old Sherlock couldn't manage it, then heaven forbid that I should try."

"Oh, come now, M. Moncrieff, no need for wounded pride," she admonished him as though correcting a child.

Algy leaned back across the desk, lounging with his head brushing the socialite's shoulder, "No need to return to the formalities either, my love." He grinned at her, but Cecily only stiffened and sank further into her chair. With a heavy sigh, the detective withdrew and stood.

"Just confirm one thing before I go: What you really want to know is _who_ Khan knows or _has _known?"

"Precisely, M. Moncrieff. Now, I shall escort you to the foyer because it is late and I wish to retire."

Cecily stood and led the way from the office, ringing for the butler on the way to the front door. Algy ambled after her.

As he gathered his hat and coat from the butler, Algernon gave Cecily a sidelong look of regret and said, "You can be a real heartbreaker, Mademoiselle Cheney."

"Good night, M. Moncrieff," Cecily replied. She offered her old friend her hand to soothe his ruffled feathers. The Englishman took it and bent to kiss it. At the last moment he twisted her hand over and pressed his lips to the center of her palm.

Cecily barely had time to register the tingling sensation on her skin before the door closed behind the detective.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Several hours later: The Batcave**

"Erik…please, this is ridiculous," Anna moaned. She slumped at the piano, her shoulders sagging as she flexed her sore fingers. Her brown eyes were so weary she couldn't even see the hands of the mantle clock to tell the time. It must have been well-past midnight and Erik still had her at the piano.

Erik felt little guilt for forcing her to practice, if it meant preventing any further developments in the cousins' conspiracy. He had forgotten, however, that Brooke and Anna were so alike in essentials that they could operate separately and still come up with the same results; therefore, poor Anna's torment was really pointless.

"I want to sleep," the redhead mumbled. She leaned back, reclining against Erik's stomach. The Phantom was reminded of that crazy fourth of July in Perros, when he and Anna had spent the night in the forest, her tiny form happily ensconced in his embrace.

Sighing with defeat, Erik gathered Anna into his arms and carried her back to her bed.

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**A/N: **I don't really own Algernon Moncrieff. He belongs to Oscar Wilde. Also, the bit about Sherlock (as in Holmes) was more a reference to _Angel of the Opera: Sherlock Holmes meets The Phantom of the Opera, _By Sam Something-or-other. Personally, I liked that book better than Susan Kay's _Phantom. _

And about the title of this chapter: It's chapter **42! **The best number ever!


	43. The Return of Raoul

Disclaimer: I don't POTO…sadly.

Hey, just a quick update for y'all. Thanks for the encouragement and support!

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THE RETURN OF RAOUL

Raoul smelled the invitation before he even laid his bright brown eyes on it. From within his little pile of mail wafted the faint scent of brandy and good cigars. Sure enough, underneath a letter from his aunt, there sat a light pink envelope bearing the seal of the Opera House managers.

The Vicomte heaved a sigh of exasperation and reluctantly picked up the envelope. He pushed his silver-bladed envelope-opener beneath the seal and sliced the paper open. Inside was a note that went something like this:

_Dearest Vicomte,_

_We trust all is well with you and your kin, good sir. As mentioned in our last note, the staff of the Opera Populaire is in a flurry over our production of _"Romeo and Juliette." _Everything is running smoothly, of course. However, we are hoping that you will reconsider our offer for a preview of the show. As one of our most valued patrons, we are anxious for your opinions. We are extending the invitation once more, in the hope that we shall see you soon._

_Your humble servants,_

_Andre and Firmin_

"Blah, blah, blah," Raoul growled. He was honestly surprised they hadn't resorted to sending flowers and chocolates. Tossing the note back onto the mail pile, the young man returned to his breakfast, though the savory eggs and sausages had lost some of their good taste. Raoul pouted. Nothing spoiled his breakfast like a groveling note on pink stationary. And Raoul loved breakfast.

Speaking of pink stationary…there was another envelope of the same hue peeking out from beneath the business letters. Almost fearfully, Raoul plucked it out from the pile. The penmanship was decidedly feminine. The scent of the paper was decidedly feminine, too…like sickly sweet cake frosting.

It was this distinctive odor of Christine's favorite perfume that killed any weak hope of the letter being from Brooke Leroux. Begrudgingly, Raoul opened the envelope.

_My darling Raoul,_

_I hope you are well, my love. Your absence and lack of correspondence has me worried, for I know you would not willfully neglect me, and so I fear that you are unwell, or perhaps it is Phillipe who is unwell. My dearest, please come to see me. I have missed you so since our last meeting. Please come soon._

_Your dearly devoted,_

_Lotte_

Raoul's youthful shoulders sagged. He felt terrible, but he was spared the trouble of drowning in his private thoughts when Phillipe came sauntering into the breakfast room. Raoul glanced up from the letter to shrewdly observe the other man. Phillipe looked smugly rumpled as he bustled about the coffee things.

"Have a good night with Sorelli?" Raoul said.

"And how! That woman is amazing," Phillipe replied, giving his brother a rakish grin.

"Spare me the details."

Phillipe rang to the kitchen and a maid came scurrying into the room with a tray of fresh eggs and sausages. The Comte made a big show of settling down to eat. Upon swallowing several large mouthfuls, he turned to Raoul.

"What's that you've got?" the Comte asked, jabbing his fork at the pink paper in Raoul's hand.

"A letter from Christine Daaé," the Vicomte muttered.

"You don't seem too thrilled about it."

"I'm not."

"Why? I thought you two were inseparable."

"I haven't seen her since the day we returned from Perros and that was over a fortnight ago." Raoul paused, musing his chocolate curls with his free hand. "I don't know what has happened to me, Phillipe. Christine just does not bear any significance to me."

Phillipe noisily slurped his coffee. "Well, Raoul, that does occur, you know. Women become tiring once you find out too much about them."

"But I'm not like you…and I mean that in the best sense, but I'm not one for simply finding a new companion every time the old one gets on my nerves."

The Comte de Chagny shrugged it off. "No one said you have to follow my example. But regardless, Raoul, it can still happen to you. You knew Christine as a child in Brittany. I remember you were both fond of each other. Now you've found her again and perhaps you thought that old puppy love might have bloomed into something else. But you've changed, she's changed. I'd say you are the one who has grown up and acquired finer tastes."

Raoul nodded silently. Phillipe was right. Christine was something from his past and definitely not what he had in mind for his future. As he stared at the two pink letters, the thought crossed his mind to give up being patron at the Opera House. There was nothing to draw him there if Christine did not.

Phillipe's voice jarred the Vicomte out of his thoughts once more.

"Speaking of Christine, Sorelli told me that the Phantom and his companions seemed to have returned at the same time the little soprano did. Odd, I think, though I suppose even ghosts have their preferences. There has already been a scandal over a stagehand who was found drinking on the job…or he died, or something. Then some kid was nearly crushed by falling sandbags. She said it wasn't the Phantom though. What were the names of his companions?"

"The Raven and the Spirit," Raoul answered. _The Spirit! _The memory of that strange apparition jolted Raoul's heart. She had brought Brooke to him that awful night of the fireworks. Perhaps she would help him again.

"Pardon me, Phillipe," the younger man said, shoving his chair away from the table and getting up to leave the room.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Opera House."

_To be continued…_


	44. Red, White, and Black

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

HAHA! 1,000 reviews! (throws a massive party)

Thank you to you all for contributing. Gerry kisses are on the house. And an extra special Gerry moment of her choice for **xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx **for being reviewer 1,000. Choose wisely, my dear.

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RED, WHITE, AND BLACK

Rehearsals for _Romeo and Juliette_ were in full swing. Despite the reassurances the managers had put in their letters to the patrons, nothing was running smoothly. Ever since Joseph Buquet had been removed to his brother's farm, the stagehands had fallen into disarray.

Then there were the frequent and violent fits of La Carlotta, who happened to look like her 2004 movie counterpart because the Authoress thought Minnie Driver and her poodles were hysterical.

Erik regularly contributed to the chaos, sending a barrage of notes to the managers' office, demanding that Christine be cast as Juliette in place of Carlotta and dropping backdrops and sandbags. Secretly, Andre and Firmin were beginning to think that it might be better to follow the Opera Ghost's "suggestions" in the long run. Of course, any us, dear readers, could have told them that.

Today, the Raven and the Spirit were on hand to pay their insanity tithes. And it promised to be the best yet.

The two pranksters had holed themselves up in a little compartment near the top of the massive crystal chandelier. Peering through a cleverly disguised porthole, they could easily watch all of the proceedings on the stage below. At the moment Carlotta and Piangi were practicing the wedding night scene.

"They suck," Brooke muttered.

"Suck donkeys," Anna said. She reached down to disentangle the legs of her trousers…or rather Erik's trousers. The girls' jeans were still drying on the wash line, leaving them with only one other alternative and that was to borrow some of Erik's clothes. Naturally, he did not know a thing about it.

Brooke turned to struggle with her own trouser legs. "Too bad the legs on these things are too long, otherwise they fit quite well."

"Kind of sad, isn't it? That the waist band on Erik's trousers fits us," Anna mused.

Brooke pondered, "Of course, you have to wonder: is it an insult to _him_ that we can fit into his pants, or is it an insult to _us_ that a _man_ wears the same size as us _girls_?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Both maybe. Hey, there's Christine."

The stage below had erupted into a state of mild chaos. Carlotta was throwing another king-size tantrum, arguing with M. Reyer about the timing of his orchestra. The rest of the cast had emerged from the wings to observe the proceedings and Christine was among them.

Anna turned her masked face to her cousin, brown eyes sparkling wickedly, "Ready to lock and load?"

"Oh, yeah!" Brooke sniggered. The cousins readied their weapons: two paintball guns loaded with red balls only. They waited for the opportune moment to fire.

Carlotta screeched at M. Reyer, "You want-a to replace-a meh, too, eh?"

"No, no, Signora, I do not wish that in the least. I am merely—"

"Aha! You want-a the Ghost's little mouse sing-a instead?" the towering diva snarled.

"No, I—"

"Fine-a! See how she does now!" Carlotta grabbed Christine and shoved her forward. It was probably not the brightest idea Carlotta ever had, but the prima donna was banking on the idea that the managers and maestro would prefer her seniority and fame to Christine's talent in any case.

Christine stumbled forward, pretending to be demure and nervous.

Overhead, Anna snorted quietly, "She's a sensational actress; I'll give her that."

M. Reyer could see no way out of this. The object was, of course, to (figuratively) kiss Carlotta's butt at all costs. The diva shrieked at him to make Christine sing.

"Very well, very well, from the beginning of Juliette's part, please Mlle. Daaé," the frazzled, skinny old man said, readying the orchestra.

Christine shyly took center stage. Anna resolutely took aim. The soprano's lips parted, her bug-eyed face lifted with an expression of sweet innocence, and the first crystalline note began to fly from her throat—

_**CRACK!**_

The thundering clap of a gunshot shook through the auditorium. To everyone's (except Carlotta's) utmost horror, Christine staggered backwards, a huge, angry blot of 'blood' on her forehead. She raised a trembling hand to her face, wiping some of the gooey liquid onto her fingers. One look at the red stains and Christine dissolved into hysterical screams. Everyone else dissolved with her, namely the ballet rats.

_**CRACK! CRACK!**_

Two more red blotches burst upon Christine's torso. She collapsed on to the stage floor, writhing in panic. Everyone stood staring her in shock.

"Ha! Seems the Ghost don't like-a you after all!" Carlotta sneered, as the others jostled around in useless activity.

"Should we mess her up worse than Christine?" Anna asked her cousin.

"Why? Then Christine will get the part of Juliette," Brooke replied.

"Exactly."

Brooke whirled on her best friend, her green eyes bright with surprise within the white mask. "Have you gone crazy!"

"No, it's just that…it would make Erik happy," Anna mumbled.

"Wow. You must _really, really _love him."

"Yes…it's almost depressing…" Carlotta's nauseating giggles floated to the auditorium ceiling. "Besides, she's obnoxious."

_**CRACK!**_

Carlotta's high-pitched shrieks joined Christine's wails as a red paintball pelted smack dab in the middle of her cleavage.

_**CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!**_

The cousins mercilessly targeted the screaming prima donna, covering her in red paint so that she looked a victim of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Once Carlotta was sufficiently wounded, the Raven and the Spirit trained their guns on Piangi, the ballet rats, and anybody else who happened to be in the way.

The stiff, but regal Mme. Giry called out to the frenzied crowd, "You see, they know! They always watch. Take heed of my words." Her voice floated above the din like the hollering of a street-side preacher.

Brooke huffed irritably, "What does she know?" And promptly shot the ballet mistress in the rump. It was in the midst of the anarchic tumult that the managers and Raoul de Chagny entered stage right. They halted in their tracks, gaping at the 'bloodied' cast and crew.

Anna spotted the Vicomte immediately and trained her sights on his smooth, pale forehead.

"_MWHAHAHAAA!" _the creepy giggle rang out through the theatre, turning the opera peoples' real blood to ice.

Brooke lunged to stop her, knocking the muzzle aside so that the shot missed its intended target and hit Firmin in the gut instead. The grown man dissolved into absolute terror, bawling and shrieking like a cat in a clothes dryer.

"Nice shot," Anna muttered to her cousin.

"Don't hit Raoul!" Brooke hissed.

"Fine…" But the little redhead found a loophole in her cousin's command and began to fire at the ground near the nobleman's feet. He squeaked in fright, dancing from foot to foot before realizing that the stage floor was spurting blood as well. He frowned, bending down to probe one goopy red lump and bringing a smearing of it to his nose.

Raoul puzzled a moment longer before the light of revelation illuminated his handsome features. He threw back his head and laughed heartily, calling out above the frantic screaming, "It's just paint!"

The chaos skidded to a halt.

"Excuse-a meh?" Carlotta snarled. "Does this look-a like paint to you-a?" Her thrust her entire vermillion body at him.

"With all due respect, Signora, if you were truly as bullet-ridden as you appear to be you would be face-to-face with the Almighty and not me," Raoul replied coolly.

Carlotta blinked. Everyone blinked and then examined their bodies for any oozing bullet wounds, but found none. Instead, their limbs and torsos and heads were peppered with swollen pink knots. Christine dragged herself to her feet and limped to Raoul.

"My darling, you've come at last!" She threw her self into his reluctant embrace. "What kept you away so long?" A blop of paint dripped from the tip of her nose. Overhead, Brooke considered shooting her again.

"Um…er…business?" Raoul answered weakly as he pried her clinging hands from his body. _So much for hunting out the Spirit, _Raoul thought with a disheartened sigh.

As Andre and Firmin surveyed their painted, lumpy cast, it occurred to them that opening night may need to be postponed, since they did not think the gentry of Paris would appreciate paying good money to see a cast that looked it had caught the Bubonic plague.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik returned to his house via the Rue Scribe entrance. He had spent all morning and a good part of the afternoon arranging some business things with Jules. Stripping off his mask and tossing it onto the sitting room table, Erik sauntered into the master bedroom where he finally discovered exactly what the cousins had been up to for the last few weeks.

"My lord, what have they done?" Erik whispered in horror.

Gone were the purple tents and velvet cushions. In their place the girls had erected a glorious homage to Galadriel's ethereal kingdom. Instead of heavy violet curtains, there was a sheet of white cotton strung up like a pavilion; the excess draped here and there, all tied with simple gray twine.

Slowly, partly in awe, Erik approached the new tent. He pushed back the folds of fabric and saw the two mattresses bedecked with new white comforters and soft, goose down pillows. To the left of this, the girls had put up a folding room divider, made of pale birch. Behind it, arranged against the walls, were a wardrobe, two trunks, and a vanity table. More sheets of cotton provide a roof for the little alcove and strings of blue electrical lights gave it a misty, glowing atmosphere. A few cushions and plants potted in silver containers decorated the corner.

Most of the furniture had been given to the girls by Erik him self, but the birch vanity table was new. A white sheet, embroidered in silver and gold, was strung across the mirror. Erik starred at it for a moment. Without knowing why, he reached out one long, elegant, sexy hand and pulled the covering away from the mirror. A twisted, ugly death's head returned his steady gaze.

Erik looked at his loathsome reflection, self-hatred shaking him to the very core. For one moment, his rage almost boiled over and he nearly smashed the mirror to pieces. _How dare they bring a mirror in here! _he thought. But then he remembered the cloth in his hands. The cousins were females; of course they would want a mirror with which to examine their pretty faces, yet they covered it up. Erik knew they covered it up for him.

A long time ago, he would have found the gesture insulting. However, knowing that the cousins never batted an eyelash at his appearance, Erik now felt strangely touched by their thoughtfulness. _As if you could call renovating a room without permission thoughtful, _Erik thought as he replaced the cloth over the mirror and left the corner. At least they hadn't touched his coffin or the organ. Seeing the ghastly funeral things in contrast with the white pavilion, Erik fancied it looked as though heaven and hell had met on earth. Being one for metaphors, the Phantom decided that he approved of the change. Besides, he couldn't blame Anna and Brooke for getting fed up with the purple velvet.

Suddenly, a soft, beloved voice called his name. Stepping lightly, Erik walked through the house, replacing his mask on his face as he went, and opened the front door. Sure enough, the voice came again and Erik knew it was Christine. He leapt into the gondola and poled his way to the opposite side of the lake, where a shivering white figure stood waiting for him.

"My child, I did not expect you…_MY GOD! _What happened to your face?" Erik yelped. His sunken blue eyes grew wide with shock as they settled on the goose-egg sized lump in the middle of Christine's perfect, white forehead.

"Your precious little companions are what happened to my face!" Christine snarled.

Erik blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

"They shot me! That's what I mean."

"But what did they shoot you with? Surely, you'd be dead if it had been a pistol or rifle."

"Of course, I'd be dead!" Christine screamed, her voice echoing off the walls of the stone caverns. "I don't know _what _they shot me with, I only know that they did, in fact, shoot me."

At that moment, Anna and Brooke emerged from the stairs leading into the fourth cellar. Their giggling whispers preceded them. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw a lumpy Christine and a silent, menacing Phantom glaring at them from a feeble circle of lantern light.

Erik took a step towards them. The cousins swallowed hard, cowering beneath their cloaks.

Erik pointed one long finger at Christine as he addressed the girls in a low, ominous tone, "Did you do that?"

"No!" came the hasty lie. Anna hid her paintball gun behind her back, pushing it at Brooke, who stood behind her. The brunette snatched the weapon from her cousin and quickly tossed both pieces of evidence into the shadows, though she knew perfectly well that Erik had eyes like a cat's.

He stepped closer. The tension was so thick Anna thought she would suffocate. All at once, Erik snapped. He lunged at the girls. With shrieks of terror, the cousins scattered, Brooke flew up the stairs and Anna ran toward the lake. The furious Angel of Music dove for the redhead. Anna squeaked and scrambled across the slippery, mossy rocks. Erik caught the edge of her cloak and used it to spin her into his grasp. Had he not been so obviously angry, Anna might have enjoyed it, but as it was, she was terrified. She wished they hadn't decided to play such a nasty trick on Christine.

"Why did you do that?" Erik roared. "Now she unfit to perform!"

"Let her go!" Brooke cried. She threw herself at Erik's back knocking Phantom and Raven into the icy lake. "Oops."

Despite the inky blackness of the water, Anna swam out farther, putting distance between her and Erik. However, he was a much more powerful swimmer and soon caught her again, cornering her in an alcove where they were out of sight of the others. Back on shore, Brooke panicked, pacing frantically as she tried to find a way to better assist her best friend. She could try to throw rocks at Erik, but she knew Anna would rather Erik strangle her than have him hurt.

"Why, Anna? You knew it would displease me!" Erik thundered, his mighty voice ringing through the caverns. He shook her hard, sending showers of droplets into the air.

"It turned out for good!" Anna gasped, pulling at his iron-like grip on her throat.

"How is _that _good?"

"Because…we got Carlotta so bad she won't be Juliette. Christine got the part instead…and Andre and Firmin…postponed…the…opening." The Phantom's fingers tightened, garbling her words. Without warning, Erik released her and Anna fell with a yelp and a splash back into the water.

The Phantom pondered for a moment. "You shot Carlotta?"

"Y-yes," Anna replied, struggling to stay afloat, with the weight of her soggy cloak dragging her down. The trouser legs had come unrolled and tangled about her ankles, preventing her from treading water easily. The water came to Erik's midsection.

"Did you kill her?"

"N—" The answer was cut off by a mouthful of black water. Sighing with exasperation, the Ghost hauled the drowning girl against his own body, thereby giving her permission to hold onto him.

"Answer me," he commanded.

Anna snuffled and sniffed and sneezed, then said, "No, we didn't kill her. It was only a gun that shoots balls of paint. It's not meant to kill."

"Pity. Why are you wearing my pants?" Erik exclaimed, noticing Anna's trousers for the first time.

"Our jeans are still drying and we can't very well wear dresses while we haunt."

"But you've soiled them now!" Erik whined.

"What do you care? We do the laundry anyway."

"Do they actually fit you?"

"In the waist, but not the legs. You're tall."

"So I've been told. Anna, I shall pardon you two for the moment, but we will be talking about this after everyone is settled in the house," the Phantom said, sounding for the world like a parent disciplining a bratty child. The redhead, certain that all was safe once more, happily clung to Erik's waist.

"I appreciate what you did to Carlotta. Apparently, it was more persuasive than my notes," Erik said, squirming in her arms. He was becoming uncomfortably aware that Anna's wet body was pressed so close to his that he could feel her feminine curves…and, even worse, he rather liked it.

"It's called aggressive negotiations."

"Indeed, but why do you torment Christine so?"

Anna looked straight into the shadowed blue eyes, her face becoming very serious. "Because she's so mean to you."

Erik stared at her. He didn't know what to make of her explanation. No one had ever really defended him like that before. Yes, Nadir had spent five years in a dirty Persian prison to help him escape from the shah's evil plans, but no one had ever viciously attacked another person for his sake. It reminded him of Ayesha's possessiveness, only to have it come from a human—a woman, no less—was something extraordinary in Erik's mind. He wasn't sure how to take it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a wild thrashing sound from the entrance to the alcove.

"Erik, don't hurt her! It was my idea!" came Brooke's frightened voice. The brunette floundered into view, having discarded her cloak so she could swim better. She paused to cling to an outcropping of rock, gasping for breath. Her green eyes came to rest on the Phantom and her cousin, looking very much like a couple of high-schoolers who had just been locked in a serious game of tonsil hockey.

Brooke quirked an eyebrow, "Oh, don't let me interrupt."

Anna flushed and pushed away from Erik, "Shut up." The redhead barely got those words out before her cloak dragged her back into the water. The Phantom pulled her up, forcing her to hold on to him as he swam out to Brooke.

Anna gave her cousin a lop-sided grin, "We're gonna get a lecture once we're inside. By the way, Erik, how'd you like our redecorating?"

"Surprisingly, I actually approve of it," he said. "How did you get it done in one day and still have time to terrorize the opera cast?"

"The Poppins Bag helped us."

"I should have known," Erik muttered, pulling Anna's arms around his neck so she would not sink again.

"Apparently, we worked the poor Bag so hard that it has to take a vacation," Brooke said.

"Will you two survive without it?"

"Haven't decided." They paddled out into the middle of the lake, moving toward the gondola and Christine who stood on the shore, fist akimbo, goose-egg knob throbbing with fury, obviously peeved that Erik hadn't murdered the cousins.

"I'm _waiting_!" she yelled.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N:**

The Gerry dragged a limp, wet, unconscious Misty into her bedroom and dropped her onto her mattress. Apparently, being locked in a spa house with some one as sexy as him self and a tub full of ice cream induces fainting fits. It also made for sticky messes because ice cream and steam don't mix well.

The Gerry sat at the desk and pondered the silent computer. He tapped the 'on' button and opened Misty's email account, which was bursting at the seams with reviews. He cast a glance at the slumbering Authoress. She wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. Grinning sexily to himself, the Gerry began to write out the review replies…

**Joz-Dizturbed: **I love the spelling of your name and happy 15th birthday!

**Mademoiselle Phantom: **A Raoul defender! I'm impressed. About Phillipe…he and Sorelli seem to be enjoying each other, but I'll let you know if they hit the rocks.

**Beregond'sGirl: **I'm sure Misty would be flattered to hear that you actually took her story with on your trip, which _I _hope you enjoyed. I believe she said she based Phillipe off a character called Tristan from _All Creatures, Great and Small _by James Herriot.

**Music Angel no. 24601: **So, they are letting people into Box 5 now, are they? No doubt Misty will be burning with jealousy when she hears.

**garbage disposal: **Welcome to the phamily. No need to reply to every chapter. As much as the Authoress appreciates the compliments, suggestions, and critiques, she knows it can't always be done.

**Bethany M.:** If you could get that Gerard what's-his-name for my part, I'm sure Misty would give your movie idea the green light.

**Surrender: **Christine gets on my nerves, too. And I agree, running into a naked fop in a dark alley would be a scarring encounter.

**Nadiil: **Lack of reviews is forgiven. I'm sure Misty would be giggling and grinning if she could read your generous compliments to her brilliance. And having met Erik myself, and being something of Erik myself, I feel at liberty to confirm your suspicions that he _is _a very difficult character to write.

**Aurora: **Misty will be pleased as punch to see your illustration as soon as it is ready. And I know she enjoys making people laugh.

**Silvermasque: **So it was _you _who gave her the spa house keys and that ice cream! I must say, mademoiselle, that that was the stickiest experience of my fictional life. Though I'm sure Misty won't be complaining.

**Solecito: **No, Andre and Firmin are straight, if that's your worry. I know plenty of gold-digging ballet rats who can testify to this. The pink envelops are simply more proof of their bad taste. As if Firmin's boufont wasn't proof enough.

**Lenis Vox: **I'm sure the fo—I mean, the _Vicomte _would appreciate your compliments. As for cherry lipgloss, I do believe the only time he'll ever wear any is after he's kissed a certain twenty-first century brunette.

**Kanya 13666: **(the Gerry spreads black roses around unconscious Authoress) I hope you don't mind if I take the credit for the roses, as it will appease her anger when she finds out that I took over the review replies.

**Nameless Waif: **A fortnight is two weeks. Ah, the Harry Potter perfume. I found dear Misty puzzling over that the other day. Poor thing was very confused.

**Priestess of Anubis: **(the Gerry holds bag at arm's length and wrinkles his nose) I'll be sure to deliver this to Misty. No doubt that twisted imagination of hers will find plenty of uses for it.

**mrs. malfoy: **Now, I'm not suppose to tell anyone this, but there will definitely be some EA romance in the next chapter…although I can't say what the romance will entail.

**OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: **I believe Misty was referring to the area of France where Christine and Raoul met. I'm not sure if she was entirely correct, but she was too lazy to confirm it. However, Brittany is indeed a part of France.

**Marianne Brandon: **(the Gerry stiffens possessively) Misty is an Erik…or, in my case, a Gerik girl, too.

**Songwind: **Yes, she did mention shorter chapters; though that was the first time she actually followed through with her threat. It seems that most people merely tolerate Raoul.

**For anyone who didn't get the 42 reference: **According to Deep Thought, the super computer from _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, _42 is the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. What the question is is another matter altogether.

"Gerry! What are you doing to my review replies?"

Oh, dear, the beast has awoken.


	45. The Crimson Wave

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.

**A/N: **Sorry if there is an unusual amount of typos in here. It's late and I'm tired.

**Marianne Brandon: **Pay no mind to the Gerry. He gets grouchy sometimes. (gasps!) I get minions! YAY! Offer accepted. You are Captain of the Minions then. (Misty attempts to knight Marianne with her violet lightsaber, but the Gerry stops her before anyone gets hurt).

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

THE CRIMSON WAVE

The Opera Garnier's production of _Romeo and Juliette _was smashing triumph. Though some critics thought the cast moved rather stiffly, they all praised the leading lady: Christine Daaé. Many of the ballerinas and singers and stagehands had spent the night celebrating their success in various activities, most of an unsavory nature. Christine herself spent the night in the house by the lake in the fifth cellar. She would have rather gone out with Raoul, but as he seemed in a hurry to leave after the final curtain call, that left only her Angel of Music for company.

The soprano awoke early the next morning in the Louis-Phillipe room. The last embers of a fire smoldered in the fireplace and the mantle clock chimed to let her know that it was five thirty in the morning. Her excitement over last night's gala wouldn't let her doze in peace so Christine jumped out of bed, slipped on her satin robe, and left her room.

The rest of the house was silent as a grave as she approached the door to the master bedroom. Without a second thought, Christine banged a small fist against the door. No answer came and so she hit the door again. And again. And again. And again.

"_WHAT DO YOU WANT!" _Anna screamed, ripping the door open so forcefully it nearly dented the bedroom wall.

Christine gawked at the wild-eyed American for a brief moment. Her appearance was shocking, to say the least: long, wavy, red mane in impossible tangles, dark circles beneath her glinting brown eyes, and a wardrobe that clearly bespoke of Anna's original time period. Her frumpy red robe swung about her body, beneath it she wore a black screen-T featuring a crudely drawn monkey face and the words "I fling poo." A pair of fitted pink boxer shorts peeked out from the hem of the shirt, leaving most of her smooth white legs exposed. She looked as though she had just spent all night cramming for a trigonometry exam.

"What. Do. You. _WANT?" _Anna screeched for the second time.

"I want breakfast," Christine answered.

Anna blinked at her. "And how does that concern me?"

"I want Erik to make it for me."

"He's not here," Anna snarled. She made to slam the door in Christine's face, but the little dancer stopped her.

"Where is he?"

"Out for his morning jog along the Seine."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No."

Christine glared at Anna suspiciously, "Then how do _you _know where he went?"

Anna gritted her teeth in irritation. "Because I live with him, you bug-eyed twit!"

The singer remained unaffected by the insult and replied in a firm voice, "Oh…well, then you'll have to make my breakfast."

Anna snorted derisively, "You've got to be joking."

"I am not. Erik said you had to be nice to me."

The redhead growled. It was true. Following the whole paintball incident a week ago, Erik had ordered Anna and Brooke to cease tormenting Christine and show her the kindness he wished her to receive. Unfortunately, Christine had overheard the lecture and had taken full advantage of it.

"Look, I feel like shit this morning and so I think I'll pass on making you breakfast in bed," Anna said.

"I don't want you to make it in my bed! Just make it in the kitchen and _then _bring it to me in my room," Christine explained.

Anna stared at her incredulously. "You are so dense. I don't know what he sees in you." She moved to shut the door again.

"I'll Erik if you don't do what I ask!" Christine hollered. She smirked as the redhead halted and groaned in exasperation before stomping into the kitchen.

XXXXXXXXXXX

When the Phantom returned to his house, moments later, dressed in simple workman's clothes, through the back door in the kitchen an outrageous sight met his deep-set eyes. Anna was flying about the room like witch riding her broomstick, red robe and hair billowing behind her. She noisily slammed pots and pans and bowls around the kitchen and muttered furiously under her breath.

"'I'll tell Erik if you don't do what I ask!'" Anna mimicked Christine's wheedling tone. "I'd better hear some serious praise for making Princess Puffer-Cheeks' breakfast at five freakin' thirty in the freakin' morning!"

Erik stealthily approached her from behind and asked, "Praise from me or from Princess Puffer-Cheeks?"

Anna shrieked in fright and bolted to the other side of the table. "Erik! What the hell did you do that for?"

"My apologies, my dear, but what _are _you doing?"

"What am I doing? I'm making breakfast for your precious angel! See..." The furious girl gathered the contents of Christine's meal. "Scrambled eggs, slightly runny…" The slimy eggs were barely cooked as she poured them on to a chipped china plate. "French toast…" Anna slapped down two plain pieces of bread and dumped the entire jar of cinnamon on them. "With warm maple syrup…woops, little too warm…" She scraped a blob of scalded syrup from a steaming pan and plopped in on top of the cinnamon bread. "And coffee…two lumps of sugar…" She poured a cup full of sugar into the mug. "Or was it no sugar and some cream? Whatever. Soup's up, your worship!" Anna yelled out the kitchen door.

Erik stared at her in disbelief. Her violent behavior frightened him. Besides, she appeared to be sick, her skin wan, her eyes sunken, and her movement, though fierce, was somehow pain-ridden. Christine sauntered into the kitchen, humming carelessly and primping her flouncy dressing gown. Anna looked like she wanted to puke.

"Do you call that cooking?" Christine snapped, pointing disdainfully at the nasty mess of the chipped china plate. Anna only glowered, her eyes flickering to the Phantom as though she expected to get a time-out.

Christine stomped one little foot, "Erik, are you going to let her get away with this?"

Without any warning, Anna burst into tears, sobbing intensely, her whole body quaking like a little tree in a windstorm. The suddenness of her outburst shook Erik out of his stupor. He ran to catch her before she crumbled to the floor.

"Anna, what's wrong?" he cried in distress.

"It hurts so bad…and I'm tired…it burns," she gasped against his course shirt, clutching fistfuls of fabric as she stiffened against whatever pain besieged her. Erik forced himself to remain calm, though inside he was beside himself with panic. He didn't have a clue as to what ailed her.

Christine wasn't impressed by the display. She was more concerned with the fact that Erik was holding a girl who wasn't her. "Really, Erik, how can you hold her like that she's all scruffy—"

Anna tore herself away from Erik with surprising strength and whirled on Christine, snarling, "Who's scruffy looking?"

Christine gazed past the indignant redhead and continued addressing the bewildered Opera Ghost, "—And so scandalously dressed?" She indicated Anna's bare legs.

"Bite me, Buggy!" Anna bawled, suddenly throwing herself at the little singer. Christine yelped and ran around the huge oak table, the livid girl hot on her heels. Now fearing for Christine's safety—for he didn't doubt that Anna would rip her arch nemesis to shreads—Erik reached over the table and actually lifted Anna up into the air, kicking and clawing. His strong arms wrapped around her wriggling body, cutting off all movement.

"Anna! What is wrong with you?" he shouted.

With vicious force, Anna wrenched her arms free of Erik's hold and grabbed his shirt collar.

She hissed, "I am _PMSING! _And I can't find a single tampon or tablet of Midol in this entire house! And the Poppins Bag is still on vacation."

"I thought it had something to do with the monthlies," Christine put in from the far side of the table. Anna craned her neck around to shoot the singer a death glare.

Meanwhile, Erik looked thoughtful. "Tampons? I have some of those," he said, matter-of-factly.

Anna's head snapped back, her eyes staring at him as though he had just grown a chicken from the top of his head. "Why would _you _have tampons?"

"I found a handful of them lying on the bathroom counter. I couldn't figure them out so I took them into my laboratory and conducted a few experiments. Set some of fire. Did you know they expand in liquid?"…A few crickets squeaked…"Guess not. Well, I never could figure out their exact purpose. Anna, why is your eye twitching like that?"

If Anna's behavior prior to this moment had been shocking, what happened now was astronomically frightening. She came completely unhinged.

"_YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE PURPOSE OF A TAMPON IS? OHO, I'LL TELL YOU **EXACTLY **WHAT THE PURPOSE IS," _she screamed. She then proceeded to describe in vivid, gory detail the precise function of a tampon. Since most, if not all, of you, dear readers, are female then you are already well acquainted with the subject. And if you aren't yet, then you will be soon enough. Therefore, _I _will skip the details.

When Anna's tirade was over Erik felt sick to his stomach. The girl lolled in his arms, cackling maniacally, "'Did you know they expand in liquid?' Ah, that's good. That's really good." Suddenly, her bizarre ramblings ceased as a powerful cramp seized her, causing her to double over in pain and begin to cry again.

Shaking his masked head, Erik gathered the whimpering girl into his arms and carried her out to the sitting room and gently lowered her onto the couch.

"Where is Brooke?" he asked as he tucked an afghan about her legs.

"Tearing our room apart, looking for a tampon or Midol for me," Anna mumbled. "Could you call for Ayesha?"

Erik did so. The cat appeared instantly, leaping lightly onto the couch, her diamond collar sparkling like fire. She seemed to understand the situation perfectly and without hesitation, stepped into Anna's lap and curled up against her stomach.

"Kitties are the next best thing for cramps," Anna explained, feebly petting the purring feline.

Erik nodded his comprehension and murmured, "I'll be back in a moment with something to sooth you." He spun on his heels and disappeared into the kitchen.

Christine was moping over her mess of breakfast when the Phantom entered. She opened her wide mouth to complain, but he shot her a dark look that quelled any protests. In silence, she watched him prepare a kettle of hot water. When the kettle was over a roaring fire, Erik soundlessly produced a bag from his trouser pocket and dumped the contents on to the table. Christine's bug-eyes widened even more with pleasure when she saw two oranges rolled out of the sack.

"Why, Erik, how thoughtful of you!" A greedy hand shot out to snatch up the rare treats, but the moody master of the house batted the hand away.

"I didn't buy them for you, angel," he sneered. "They are for Anna and Brooke." Using a small paring knife, he sliced one suculant fruit into little boat shaped wedges and then arranged them on a small plate.

"Christine," Erik began, his beautiful voice low and deadly, "Who gave you permission to treat my companions like servants?"

The trembling soprano muttered, "No one."

"Then I expect you to show them some respect. _You _may be my angel, but I cannot deny them the right of first-comers. They have been with me longer than you. Do not take such liberties again." Christine nodded dumbly. The kettle whistled and Erik poured a stream of steaming water into a delicate china teacup. A strange aroma wafted from the brown liquid.

"Erik, what kind of tea is that?"

"Peppermint. Anna's favorite," the Phantom snapped. He swept out of the kitchen, bearing a tray with Anna's light breakfast on it. Christine followed him, hanging about the door way and watching the proceedings in silence.

Erik set the tray on the end table nearest Anna's head. He helped her sit up, rearranging the afghan and fluffing pillows. Ayesha meowed a soft protest at the movement, but constented to take up her former position in Anna's lap.

"Oh, Erik, thank you!" Anna exclaimed when she saw the tea and orange. She picked up a slice of fruit and promptly stuck the whole wedge into her mouth. The Phantom and the singer watched in amazement as she loudly chewed the pulp from the skin. In a weak jest, she pulled back her lips to reveal a pock-marked orange peel in place of her teeth. Erik rolled his eyes and turned to leave. A dainty hand at his elbow caught him by surprise.

"Please stay, Erik. You sooth me, too," Anna pleaded. Erik stared at her for a moment. Then without waiting for Anna to ask, without a thought as to Christine's protests, Erik removed his mask and sat down on the couch beside the redhead. It was in that second that Christine realized that Anna was not simply an obstacle, she was competition. The revelation was too much for the singer to bear, but no one noticed as she ran into the Louis-Phillipe room, bolting the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Anna had wormed her way into Erik's embrace. It suddenly occurred to the sheepish man that she was cuddling him. He bent his eyes to her face. For the first time, he noticed several faint purple blotches peppering her slender neck.

"Where did you get these?" he asked with a frown.

"You. When you nearly strangled me the other night, after the paintball thing."

"Anna, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have reacted that way."

Anna shrugged it off, "Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. If I ever saw anyone _else _do something like that to you…" his voice trailed away.

Anna's chocolate eyes sought Erik's horrid face expectantly, "What would you do?"

"Probably punjab the rogue on the spot."

"Aww, how sweet."

Erik shook his head, "No, I should have punjabbed myself before hurting you like that. I forget my own strength and rage sometimes." Gently, he brushed the tips of his fingers against her bruise skin. Instantly, he felt her pulse quicken, the heartbeat fluttering against the pads of his fingers like a butterfly's wings.

The pain in Anna's abdomen seemed to leap into her heart, twisting and pounding in her chest in agony. She desperately wished he would look at her the way he did at Christine, but until he did—_if _he did—the poor girl didn't want his brotherly affection. It hurt too much. She pulled his hand away from her throat, saying that it tickled, though she did not giggle or smile. Another monster cramp burned in her gut. Moaning, she pressed her faced into Erik's shoulder and gripped his hand.

Softly, Erik began to sing to her a nameless gypsy lullaby. His angelic voice filled her mind, calming her fluttering and lulling her to sleep. As her head sagged against his chest, Anna mumbled, "You won't leave me when I fall asleep, will you?"

In response, Erik tightened his arms around her and drew her closer. "No, I will not. Now sleep, _mon merle." _She was nearly muttering about tacos when Brooke burst from the master bedroom, holding a single tampon aloft.

"Ha! I am Brooke Juan Triumphant!" she crowed.

Erik had never seen anyone move so fast. One moment Anna was laying in his arms, asleep, the next she had vaulted over the couch and snatched the feminine product from her cousin.

"_Thank you, thank you, thank you!" _Anna squealed, spinning Brooke around by the arms before dashing to the bathroom.

The Phantom sat still on the couch, utterly bewildered and a little disappointed.

"Where did you find it?" he asked the beaming brunette.

"Under the organ."

Shrugging and yawning, Erik stood and stretched his lanky limbs. He glanced at his pocket watch. _Six thirty. _Not even noon and he had already had a full day. Thinking to offer her an orange and some tea, he glanced at Brooke and noticed she had gone white as a ghost.

"Brooke, what's wrong," Erik ventured tentatively, afraid of the answer.

"I think…I just started my period, too. _Anna, wait!" _She spun about and ran into the master bedroom. Erik flopped back onto the couch…it was going to be a loooooooong day.


	46. Erik's Saving Grace

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…or Gerry (sadly)

**A/N: **Misty strolled into her den, flipping through her reviews, humming "Angel of Music." The Gerry was sprawled out on the over-stuffed sofa, snoring softly with a purple throw draped across his body. The Authoress smiled affectionately and gently stirred his jet-black hair as she passed him, heading for her computer desk.

The doorbell rang, startling the Gerry from his nap.

"Whasss goin' on?" he mumbled, hauling himself into a sitting position, blinking blearily at Misty.

"Someone's at the door. Would you answer it, my love?"

"Sure." The Scottish Phantom stood, purple throw falling at his feet to reveal a bare chest and pair of black boxers as he stumbled out of the den and to the front door.

"_SQUEEEE!" _An ear-splitting shriek of girlish delight cracked through the quiet house, scaring the patrol socks and sending Misty diving for her lightsaber. The Gerry shot back into the room, ducking behind the petite Authoress for protection.

"It's a phan!" he whispered in horror. Misty readied herself to defend her phantom at all costs. The socks growled. Quiet footsteps echoed in the hallway, coming nearer and nearer. At last, a dark figure appeared, swathed in a black cloak.

"Speak!" Misty commanded, lightsaber ignited.

The figure stepped into the den and flipped back the hood of the cloak to reveal Marianne Brandon. Misty relaxed, turning off the saber, and the socks greeted the newcomer enthusiastically, covering her knee-high boots with lint fluff.

"It's only Marianne, my love. Please come in," Misty said, alternately addressing the cowering Gerry and her newly appointed Captain of the Minions.

"She tried to glomp me," the Gerry said stubbornly, keeping a wary eye on the Captain.

Misty shrugged, "That's what you get for answering the door in your boxers. Make your self at home, Captain."

Captain Marianne bowed and promptly seated herself on the Gerry's sofa. "You called, Authoress?" she asked, winking at a sulking Gerry.

"Yes, some things have occurred to me and I thought I might as well let you and Gerry know at the same time since you are on my staff," Misty began, settling herself into her swiveling chair like a dictator giving battle directions. "One is that these A/N's seem to be taking on a life of their own. Is that a good thing?"

Captain Marianne puzzled for a moment before replying, "Yes, lots of writers include things like this in their phics. It's just part of the phanphic community. I think you could see it as part of a double feature, with the new chapter being the main presentation. Besides, it includes the Gerry." The black-clad girl gave the Phantom another wink.

Misty nodded, "Okay, good enough for me. Thing two, I was singing in the shower today—"

"Very loudly and out of tune," the Gerry muttered.

"—And my mind suddenly created a new word. It is: _blipic." _

The Gerry and the Captain blinked at the Authoress for a few confused seconds.

Misty sigh, "It's this weird welding of _blip _and _epic. _I don't know why it came out that way, but I think it's a sign. I've decided that in between the larger, epic chapters, I'm going to include some brief little blips of scenes that either randomly pop into my head…or however I see fit to use them. And I shall call these little chapters _blipics."_

The Gerry groaned and shook his head. Captain Marianne thought it was a good idea.

"Good. And, Captain, here is your official captain's badge." Misty handed the girl a beautiful pewter badge, with a raven, a spirit, and a mask wrought in the center. It was very heavy, but useful in pinning back her cloak.

Misty continued, "Also, you'll need to formulate an appropriate method of initiation for anyone who wishes to become a minion…something tells me I may need to use them later on." She scanned the Captain's letter of acceptance once more. "Oh, yes, and you wanted to know if your new position comes with any special privileges."

"Yes, Authoress!" Captain Marianne sat up straight, eyes flickering to the nearly naked Gerry huddling fearfully in a corner.

"Well, I think I can allow you cuddling privileges with the Gerry. But no more than cuddling…as Authoress I must maintain some semblance of rank amongst my staff."

Captain Marianne squealed happily and patted the place on the sofa beside her. Reluctantly, the Gerry shuffled over and allowed her to snuggle against his bare, broad, thick, muscular (drools) chest.

"Oh, Captain, before you get too comfortable…would you mind delivering these things to the lair? They're from some of the reviewers and I know Erik will appreciate them," Misty said, indicating a gift basket and brown paper package tied up with string, which were occupying one corner of her desk.

Captain Marianne leapt to her feet and straightened her cloak, "Save my place, Gerry." She gathered the items into her arms. "How do I get to the lair?"

"Through here…" Misty led her to a large old wardrobe—the kind that has a looking glass in the door—sitting in a far corner of the room and opened it. It was full of genuine fur coats and there were mothballs on the floor. Captain Marianne resolutely stepped into the wardrobe.

"Don't close the door," Misty advised. "It is very foolish to shut one's self up in a wardrobe."

The Captain gave a curt nod and disappeared into the coats.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

ERIK'S SAVING GRACE

I'm sure most of you can imagine to the shock on Erik's ugly face when he cracked open his front door and found a young woman in a black cloak standing on his doorstep, her arms wrapped around a gift basket and brown paper package.

"Do you have a death wish?" the Phantom hissed, glaring at the strange girl through the eyeholes of his mask.

"No, I don't actually," the girl quipped cheerfully.

"Then why are you standing here and how did you get past my traps?"

"In answer to your first question…" the girl heaved her load into Erik's hands. "I was asked by the Authoress to deliver these to you. She said you would appreciate it. And in response to your second question, it's for me to know and you to never find out. Bye, now!"

With that Captain Marianne disappeared into the shadows, leaving a very confused Phantom at the door. Erik retreated into the house, toting the gifts into the sitting room. An occasional groan issuing from the master bedroom, which had become PMS central, was all the noise to be heard in the house.

Tentatively, Erik examined the gift basket. Judging by that insane firework display in Perros, he thought it best to treat anything that hand once been in the hands of this Authoress person with extreme caution. The grey whicker basket was decorated with red, white, and black ribbons, its contents cushioned by a lump of purple velvet and wrapped in black silk. There was a parchment note sticking out of center of the individual objects.

With long, cold fingers, Erik plucked the parchment out of the basket and broke the seal. It read:

_Dear Anna and Brooke,_

_Here are some supplies to hold you over until the Poppins Bag returns._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Beregond'sGirl_

Setting the note aside, Erik rummaged through the silk-wrapped item in the basket, revealing a plentiful supply of tampons, kotexes, and Midol.

"Thank you, God!" Erik cried, and he really meant it. Eagerly, he tore open the note from the brown paper package. It said:

_Dear Erik,_

_Keep plenty of this around the house. When the girls jump on it before breakfast, then you'll know it's time to watch out._

_Love,_

_Gevasia_

Frowning, Erik ripped open the paper packaging, finding a large box of dark chocolate inside. As he rushed the deliveries into the Lothorien corner, Erik made a mental note to send a message to the Authoress, informing her that he would gladly sing any song of Beregond'sGirl's and Gevasia's choice, and might consider kissing their feet, for saving him from a week in double menstruation hell.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Hey, just a quick update with an elaborate author's note at the beginning. I hope you guys get the concept of _blipics. _It seriously occurred to me in the shower…unfortunately, there was no Gerry to here it. (tear) Anywho, this is an example of a _blipic. _These little scenes just pop up, or bits of plot surface, that just don't fit into an epic chapter, but I want to share them with you all, so here it is. I know the whole made-up word thing is weird, but it's fun to say. It's like the noise a frog with the hiccups would make.

**Marianne Brandon: **I hope you don't mind your sudden appearance as a character!


	47. Cecily's Close Call

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.

**A/N: **Ever since the announcement that Misty was looking for minions had gone out, the Gerry had taken to trailing the Authoress about the house like a well-trained puppy. It was the only way to protect him self from the sudden wave of phangirls that descended upon the house. He tried locking himself in his room, but they found a way in. He tried threatening them with the Punjab lasso, but they simply raised their hands to the level of their eyes in response. He even abandoned his traditional Phantom garb for one of Misty's Winnie-the-Pooh nightshirts and a pair of cotton PJ pants…but apparently, he looked sexy in anything.

To ensure the safety of her beloved muse, Misty had placed the den and her bedroom as off limits to everyone, excepting her self, the Gerry, and Captain Marianne. If ever she left the den, she was sure to carry her lightsaber with her. The rest of the house—a spacious bungalow built in the mid-1930's—was given over to the minions. Captain Marianne had set up the foyer as a sort of check-in booth for all new arrivals. In general, they were well behaved, spending their time devising ways to kill certain POTO characters or swimming or singing or whatever else amused them.

"I'll be back in a minute, Gerry," Misty said, throwing on her silver cloak as she ventured out of the den. "Guard him with your lives," she told the patrol socks. They took her command the heart and instantly buried the Gerry beneath a mound of fuzzy footwear.

The Authoress traipsed into the living room, which had become minion HQ. She cleared her throat and the room fell silent, all eyes trained on the petite girl in the silver cloak. Captain Marianne took her place beside the Authoress.

"Well, thank you all for applying to be my minions. You have no idea how excited I am about this. I myself am a minion for several other Authoresses and so to have my own troop is…well…phantastic," Misty said. There was a polite round of applause.

"I have a few announcements to make. First, **_DO NOT_ SEND ANYTHING ABOUT BEING A MINION FOR _ME _TO MARIANNE BRANDON! **She is your captain in _this _phic only. Outside of _Phantom Companions, _she has her own Authoress-ship to maintain. M'kay, second, _everyone_ who asks will be made a minion. Just put your application in a review for _Chapter 46: Erik's Saving Grace_. The minions may be making an appearance in the story later on, but your have to leave the application in the indicated chapter's reviews.

"Third, several of you have asked about Gerry privileges. I'm sorry, but to put it bluntly, he's _mine! _Captain Marianne only maintains cuddling privileges. However, feel free to raid his underwear drawers. I may tell you that black silk boxers maintain the scent of his cologne very well."

The minions brightened at this. The Gerry, being a Phantom, heard this from the back of the house and shouted something obscene in protest. At that moment, Captain Marianne leaned in to whisper something to the Authoress.

"There's a xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx present who claims that she has been given permission to have a moment of her choice with the Gerry."

"Oh, yes, Reviwer #1000! Will xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx step forward please?"

The indicated reviewer complied. Misty scratched something out on a sheet of paper in red ink. She handed the paper to the reviewer. "Just present this to the patrol socks and you can have your Gerry moment. How you use it is up to you."

xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx gleefully skipped down the hall. There was a tense silence as everyone waited for the Gerry's reaction. It finally came when they heard a manly scream of fright and the scuffling sounds of a Phantom being glomped.

"All righty then, I've got some review replies to hand out…"

**Phantom SteelWolf: **Sorry, there won't be any more chat room sessions with Erik and the girls.

**LiTTleLoTTe1991: **As if the poor guy wasn't deranged enough, eh? Minion according to dictionary .com:

1.An obsequious follower or dependent; a sycophant.

2.A subordinate official.

3.One who is highly esteemed or favored; a darling.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

French mignon, _darling_, from Old French mignot, mignon.

**Child of the Dark Wood: **(accepts roses on behalf of the cousins) Thank you! The PMS won't last longer than the typical week…but we all know how long that seems.

**xotic princess: **I guess even the high and mighty Phantom gets desperate sometimes. Yes…Gerard Butler in black boxers is my happy thought. Like I said earlier, just leave your request to be a minion in chapter 46's reviews.

**Music Angel no. 24601: **They do cackle! I love cackling.

**Nameless Waif: **YES! The wardrobe! You got it. I love the wardrobe they're using in the movie…upon closer inspection I could see a bunch of scenes from _The Magician's Nephew _carved into the doors.

**angel of mystery: **Oh, I shall be most happy to give the Gerry a kiss for you.

**Childofthewilderness: **Thank God for modern feminine products. I can't imagine literally being on the rag.

**Tian Sirki: **You are so spastic, it's hilarious.

**MamselleJanelle: **Welcome to the phamily! We provide excellent health plans for our minions: if you get sick, the Gerry will sing to you and feed you ice cream.

**xBleedingxRosesx: **Welcome to the phamily! Seems like you've gotten the review thing down.

**Solecito: **I'm so glad you all understand the blipics…I wasn't sure if people would read that and go, "She's crazy." Though y'all probably figured that out already. EEK! If I ever do an Erik/Raoul snog session you have permission to Punjab me. Your cheese note was hysterical by the way. And, no, I never managed to open those sites. My computer is retarded.

**garbage disposal: **Yes, he is one lucky Phantom. (Erik nods frantically)

**Ms. Cellaneous: **Yeah, poor Raoul has to find a girl who hides in walls while avoiding the bug-eyed moron. That's the real trick, isn't it?

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **Well, hope you enjoy your Gerry moment.

**SimplyElymas: **Sorry, Nadir is off-limits since he's in the story. Besides, you'd have to fight Meg for him.

**Charlemange: **(hands reviewer a pair of the Gerry's boxers) I really hope Gerard Butler never reads this. And I am most certainly making this up as I go, but thank you for the generous compliment.

**aragornnme: **No need to duck. I don't mind honest criticism. Usually, I'm a stickler on spelling and grammar, but when it's 2:30 in the morning, I just don't care.

**Marianne Brandon: **I have never been so excited about a movie in my life. Narnia is the ultimate! Aslan rocks my socks! Glad you like your new position. Hair color and physical stature would good to know. I read your profile and I love your lists of favorites.

**naomipoe: **I hope it isn't too late to accept your offer. Email me with the details. I'm honored to be selected, but I'd like to know more about it.

**Bananas in Pajamas: **Just leave out the peanut butter.

**CoolGirlEmily: **I am so sorry.

**Savvy: **Ah, my dear friend, so glad to have you back, but I told you, didn't I? I suppose the Poppins Bag might go to Number 17, Cherry Tree Lane on vaca.

**Mademoiselle Phantom: **You can be a minion, but I'm afraid the position of muse has already been filled. (Indicates the Gerry and Erik). Though the Gerry might appreciate some glomp-free entertainment.

**Mominator: **I certainly hope the couch is more comfortable than the coffin.

**Shibbydm: **What is a glasgow kiss?

And thanks to everyone else! **Voldemort's Hikari, lady summoner2, Nota Lone, smgirl, mrs. malfoy, Gevasia, OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles, bigPhan, psycho soprano extraordinaire, Beregond'sGirl, Rinny Leonhart Rikku, Master Darth Warious, Nadiil, Sirius Is My King.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

CECILY'S CLOSE CALL

Cecily Cheney was stomping around her office in frustration when the butler knocked at the door, then opened it to announce the arrival of Algernon Moncrieff. The young woman nodded for him to be shown in. The butler disappeared and Cecily ran to the tiny mirror hanging on the wall behind the desk and inspected her appearance, pinching her cheeks to add some color.

"Hello, my love," came Algy's voice. She turned to greet him, letting her hand be kissed and offering him a glass of brandy. He accepted and they sat in the high-backed chairs near the fireplace.

"Did you find out anything about M. Khan's past associates?" she asked eagerly.

"You know, you'd be truly irresistible if you got that excited about _me," _Algy said; taking long, slow sips of his brandy.

"Please, M. Moncrieff! I'm at my wit's end. Do you have any information?"

The English detective gazed at her for a moment, his cool blue eyes inspecting her as though he was trying to solve a puzzle. Finally, he answered, "Yes, I found something. You remember old Georges Proulx?"

"Yes, he was an ambassador for the royal court."

"Correct, but to be more precise, he was an ambassador to the Persian shah. He spent quite a few years out there. Anyway, I spoke with him about his experiences and he told me about an unfortunate incident some fifteen to twenty years ago, in which the chief of police in Mazenderan was arrested for helping the court magician escape from the shah's executioners."

He paused to refill his tumbler. Cecily squirmed with impatience. Algy drew the silence out, taking his time making sure the amount of liquor in his glass was just right.

"M. Moncrieff, you are very exasperating!" Cecily cried at last.

"I know, my love, but you look so lovely when you're exasperated. Don't blush now! I might think that my overtures have some _positive _effect on you," Algy said, giving her a rakish wink. "Georges told me plenty more stories, you know how he loves to brag about his adventures…you really owe me something for sitting through the old goat's tirades."

Cecily blushed again and laughed, a clear, sweet sound that set the detective's heart fluttering.

"Only if you managed to procure more information on Nadir Khan," she teased.

Algy's face lit up and he looked heartbreakingly sincere as he asked, "Is that a promise?"

Cecily bent her grey eyes to her tumbler, trying to avoid the gentleman's intense gaze. She thought about it a moment. _Why not? It'll get the information out of him…besides…he is **very **charming._

"Yes, it is a promise," she answered.

Algy's mouth broke into a dazzling smile. "Excellent. Well, that is actually everything I know so far."

"What!" Cecily shot up from her chair, towering over the Englishman like a furious harpy.

"I'm jesting!" Algy cried, putting up his hands to appease her. Cecily growled and swore under her breath as she threw her self back into her chair.

Algy chuckled, amused by her puffing cheeks and angry glare. "The thing is that Nadir Khan _was _that chief of police. Old Georges raved about the man, saying that Khan was the most honorable Persian in all of Persia. It was all because of this business with the magician that he was held in prison for five years."

"Five years isn't too bad. Is it?" Cecily suddenly felt very ignorant, but Algy didn't betray any incredulity at her lack of knowledge.

"It is in Persia. Prison, or possibly a tortuous death, is a huge price to pay to save another man's life. Something tells me that this magician may be the man you truly seek to know more about."

"Are you sure?" Cecily asked.

"Yes. As chief of police _and _a nobleman of sorts, Khan must have had many acquaintances and friends, but he did not risk so much for any of them. Besides, Georges also told me that Khan was the one entrusted with the mission to find the magician—in Russia, I believe—and bring him to the shah."

Cecily slumped further into her chair, "That couldn't be the one. The man I'm interested in is French."

"And I was hoping you'd say English," Algy snerked.

"Really, M. Moncrieff!"

Algy laughed at her indignation. He stood, leaving his empty glass on an end table, and went to lean against the mantle. "There is a chance, Cecily that this magician _was _a Frenchman and was just living in Russia at the time Khan first found him."

The heiress's smooth brow creased in thought. She tried to recall some of the things she had read about Erik in _The Matchmaker's Guide to the POTO Galaxy. _"Yes, that's true. Did you find out anything else?"

The detective shook his tousled blond head, "No…nothing of importance. But I _have _been keeping an eye on Khan's activities in Paris. He frequents the Opera House almost as much as the performers. I'm surprised they don't pay him to be there."

"Oh, I know that," Cecily huffed, waving a hand about as if to erase his words from the air.

"Yes, I imagine you _would _know that," Algy said darkly, his tone suggestive and accusing.

The young woman's face sobered instantly. Slowly and regally, she rose to her feet, steady, steel-colored gaze trained on the man before her. "And just what does that statement mean?"

"I don't know. You tell me. I've also discovered that you are now a patroness at the Opera Populaire, Mlle. Cheney. Furthermore, I saw you attempting to speak with him following the gala a few nights ago."

Cecily stamped one foot in frustration. "I am _NOT _interested in Nadir Khan himself. I—"

"I know that, Cecily. And I believe it."

"Then what are you implying?" They now stood nose-to-nose, each one angry and fuming and breathing harder than they meant to. The tension ended abruptly when the office door was thrown open and the hobbits came waltzing in.

"Oy, Mlle. Cecily, we found some enterestin' thengs out aboot tha' M'sir Khan today at the Opera," Pip announced. Que spotted the two near the fireplace and quickly clamped a hand over his friend's rambling mouth. Pip struggled for a second before noticing the others. He went limp, his eyes going wide with surprise.

Giving Cecily a cruel smirk, Algernon slid away from his place between the mantle and the woman. "How are you chaps?" he addressed the servants in their native language.

"J-just fine, sir. Um…we'll just go ter th'kitchen and get drunk," Que stammered, seeing the fury in their mistress's eyes. Pip nodded wordlessly. They began to scoot toward the door.

"DON'T…move," Cecily thundered, her loud voice making the hobbits jump. She stormed to the door, slammed it shut, locked it, then returned to her desk. All the while, Algy watched her with keen interest, his icy blue eyes flickering with curiosity.

"Now, boys, will you tell me what you discovered today?" the socialite said, her voice now low and eerily calm.

Pip swallowed hard before mumbling, "Jus' tha' M'sir Khan es seeing one of the dancers, Mlle. Cecily."

"Which one?"

"Um, er…Meg somethen'," Que supplied.

Cecily brightened, "Giry?"

"Er, yes."

"Thank you, boys. You may go and get a drink from the kitchen."

"Th'door's still locked."

"Oh…well then just help yourselves to some brandy." Cecily gestured to the decanter. The hobbits happily took up the offer. "Well, M. Moncrieff, what was it you were saying before?"

Algy strode across the room, around the desk, and gripped Cecily by the shoulders, "Tell the truth, Cecily, are you trying to track down the Opera Ghost?"

All color left the girl's complexion and the hobbits snarfed their drinks.

Algy released his grip on her and smiled, "I thought so. Why in the world would you associate M. Khan with the ghost? Simply because he is at the Opera so much? Well, your servants have provided an answer to that. Nadir Khan is courting a ballerina. Now what of your ghost hunt?"

He spoke like one addressing a child. Cecily glared at him, wanting to say something scathing in return, but she thought it might be best to play dumb. She swished her skirts back and forth, pouting prettily, "Well, you know I get bored when ever I have to be in town. When we were in Perros there were some opera people there and they told some stories about the ghost. I just thought it might be fun to see if he was real."

Algy shook his head. "Those ghost stories are nothing more than the fabrications of the corps de ballet and the gossip columnists. And if he _were _real, it wouldn't be very safe to go after him. I'm finished here tonight, but not with you, dear Cecily. You still owe me a night out…to the opera maybe?"

The young woman gave her guest a look that could have melted ice. He winked at her, picked up her key, and let himself out the door. Only when the last of his footsteps died in the hallway did Cecily and her servants fall back into their chairs, sighing with relief.

"That was too close," Cecily said. "And something tells me he won't let it go. In the meantime, boys, I want you to spend more time talking to the dancers. Find out about any strange occurrences. Maybe I'll have you deliver a message to Mlle. Giry. She could be helpful in breaking the Persian out of his shell."


	48. Gossip Part I: Meg and the Ballet Rats

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO

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GOSSIP PART I: MEG AND THE BALLET RATS

Meg Giry leaned against the bar in the practice room, stretching her slender legs until she could feel tautness in her muscles dissolve. It had been a long day of extra practices for the ballet rats. Madame Giry had found great fault with their performances on the gala night. _Of course, when does she not find fault, _Meg thought to herself. She winced at the ungrateful tone of her musings. The little ballerina knew her mother was merely dedicated to her art. It was her passion and desire for excellence the older Giry had imparted to her daughter, which made Meg work harder than any other girl in the corps.

The work paid off. She was given leadership of a row and had a fair chance at being made prima ballerina, once La Sorelli left the position. Meg did not know that she had been made leader of a row because the Opera Ghost had suggested it to the managers. However, it was not simply because the Ghost like doing favors for his faithful box keeper, but Erik really did think the Meg that great potential.

Meg's thoughts, however, were far away from her career as a dancer. Switching legs, she watched a group of girls huddled at the far end of the room, all whispering and giggling together. It had been a long while since Meg had really joined in with the childish antics of the other corps members. No one truly understood Meg's devotion to ballet. Her seriousness with regard to the craft was looked upon as something of a humbug by the other ballerinas. Though, the distance had undoubtedly grown since she had begun seeing the Persian on a regular basis.

Speaking of Nadir, he had promised to take her to the street fair in the art district this evening. Meg glanced at the clock hanging over the doorway. It was time to put up her slippers and get ready for the night's activities. The little dancer mindlessly wound her way through the corridors and up the stairs until she reached the dormitories, several floors above the stage. She found a couple of other girls lounging on their beds when she opened the door, but no Christine.

Meg mentally rejoiced when she remembered that the new prima donna had been given her own room as part of the elevation to star status. She was really getting fed up with Christine's diva attitude. Little Giry suddenly became aware that two pairs of impish eyes were watching her as she moved about the room. Slowly, she turned to regard the two girls at the opposite side of the chamber.

"Hello, Meg," said little Jammes, the girl with the tip-tilted nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose-red cheeks and the lily-white neck and shoulders. Sitting on the bed beside her was a slender girl from Yorkshire with dark blonde curls and bright green eyes.

"Hello, Jammes, Kathryn…" Meg nodded to each girl, noticing as they exchanged knowing looks. "Is everything all right?"

"Are you going to the street fair with that foreigner?" Kathryn asked her French complicated by her English accent.

Meg stiffened, drawing her body up to its full four feet, eleven inches. "Do you mean M. Khan?"

"Is that his name?" Kathryn puzzled. She gave Jammes another look.

"Yes," Meg hissed through gritted teeth. "What is going on?" She sat down on the bed facing them. They glanced at each other again. Meg bit back a scream of frustration.

Jammes took a deep breath, as though she was preparing to tell Meg that her mother had died, "Meg…we think he's cheating on you."

Little Giry blinked. "Come again?"

Kathryn sighed gently, "We think M. Kaa…or whatever his name is…is _cheating on you…_with another woman."

Meg threw back her golden head and let out a clear peal of laughter. "Nonsense. M. Khan is _not _the sort of man to do that kind of thing, I assure you. Really, girls, you'll have to come up with a better joke than that."

"This isn't a joke, Meg," Jammes insisted, her forget-me-not eyes deadly serious. Meg swallowed her giggles, growing quiet as she saw the intense sincerity in both little faces.

"But how do you know?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"We saw him with a lady at the Café la Dynamite de Napoleon," Kathryn said.

"When?"

"About a month ago. We went out for some supper at the café and we saw the Persian sitting in a corner booth with a very pretty lady with black hair and an expensive dress," little Jammes elaborated.

"A month ago! Why didn't you say something sooner?" Meg exclaimed, still attempting to remain unconvinced, though her resolve was rapidly crumbling.

"We didn't think we should say anything. It looked like they were having a row...but then we saw her talking to him at the gala the other night. I think she's the new patroness," Kathryn said.

Meg's face fell. She had seen that woman hanging about the foyer and auditorium lately. Could it be possible? But Nadir didn't seem at all like the sort of man who would behave so barbarically.

"You know, I _have _heard that Persians often take more than one wife," Jammes said, as though it helped.

A sharp pain pierced Meg's heart, boring into her like a wedge of ice. She had heard rumors like that, too. Though Meg was not easily inclined to be prejudice, the idea did make sense. A knock at the dormitory door startled the girls from their quiet talk. A small rat appeared and shuffled up to the moping Giry.

"The Persian is waiting for you down stairs, Meg," she squeaked.

Meg glanced up at Jammes and Kathryn. Their eyes were expectant.

"Um, would you apologize to M. Khan for me and tell him that I am feeling ill tonight and cannot accompany him?" she mumbled. The tiny girl curtsied and scampered away to deliver the message. Jammes and Kathryn nodded their approval. They were not vicious girls, the sort who spread malicious gossip to ruin their friends' lives, and they honestly thought they were doing Meg a service by exposing her suitor's double life.

Giving them a weak smile, Meg got up and changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. The little girl who had delivered the messages returned shortly with a bouquet of pink roses in her hands.

"The Persian said to give you these. And he says he hopes you feel well soon," the girl chirped. She giggled and simpered over the flowers as though they were hers. She couldn't wait to tell her peers about it. Meg woefully accepted the flowers, laying them on her bed stand and curling up under the covers.

Kathryn, feeling sorry for her broken-hearted friend, found a pitcher of water for the roses. She patted the shivering mound beneath the blankets before returning to her own bed for the night.

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**A/N: **The Gerry was surfing ff .net for any new phics that might catch his or Misty's interest. His turquoise eyes alighted on a familiar name. Misty would definitely be happy to see this, thus the Gerry left the safety of the den and shuffled down the hall to Misty's room, carefully avoiding any detection by the minions.

He found Misty, sewing beads onto one of her fleece blanket creations and listening to her music.

"Misty, love, come and see this," he said. Misty would have hardly moved for anyone, but she could not resist the Gerry's voice and so followed him back to the den.

"Look, Phantress actually submitted her story to the site! Isn't she the one you based Kathryn the ballerina on?" the Gerry exclaimed, pointing to their friend's name on the computer screen.

Misty did a happy dance. "YAY! Yes, she is my inspiration for Kathryn. I'll have to post a notice in Minion HQ about it." She gave the Gerry a kiss and departed. The next morning the minions found a note pasted to their announcement board that went something like this:

_Hey everybody, a good friend of mine posted her first serious phic. Her story is really unique and I think some of you might find it an interesting twist. Please look her up. Her penname is Phantress._

_Your obedient servant,_

_M.B._


	49. The Things Women Do

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO or Gerry.

**A/N: **"Your inbox is overflowing with applications for minionhood, Misty. To be honest I'm having some difficulty keeping track of them all," said Captain Marianne as she deposited a stack of the applications on the Authoress's cluttered desk.

Misty, who was currently cuddling with the Gerry and watching _Casablanca, _glanced up at the rapidly increasing amount of paperwork populating the den. She sighed and buried her face in the Gerry's chest.

"You know, you really ought to get a list going," the Gerry commented.

"I know…but my inner-procrastinator is calling and I must answer," Misty mumbled against his cravat.

"Well, as your muse, I reserve the right to override any orders from the inner-procrastinator. So…" The Gerry heaved her to her feet. "Get to it."

Misty sulked until the Gerry gave her a kiss…a good one. Slowly, Misty made her way to the desk; quickly, Captain Marianne made her way to the sofa upon which sat the Phantom. The Authoress's red pen worked furiously on a note, which she gave to a patrol sock to be posted in minion HQ, then she began her work on a list of minions.

The note read as follows:

_Dear Minions,_

_Do not panic if I do not respond to your application for minionhood personally. Everyone who applies will be accepted. You may or may not make an appearance in the A/N's; I make no guarantees. However, you will be making a cameo appearance COLLECTIVELY within the phic itself much later down the line._

_Your obedient servant,_

_M.B._

_P.S. This is a chapter dedication for Solecito for providing the inspiration for this Blipic._

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THE THINGS WOMEN DO

_A Blipic_

Erik was in his laboratory when a hair-raising shriek startled him out of his concentration. _And he thought the trauma of PMS was over for the month. _He rushed into the master bedroom to see what was the matter, but the cousins were nowhere to be found in the room. A burst of mumblings came from the bathroom and the Phantom went to investigate.

Anna was perched upon the lip of the huge marble bathtub, dressed in a thin cami and PJ shorts, while Brooke—similarly attired—slathered something green and sticky on her pale legs. The redhead's complexion matched the color of her hair as she screwed up her features, in obvious preparation for inevitable pain.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, leaning in the doorway.

"Waxing," Anna muttered between clenched teeth.

"Get a grip, Anna! I haven't even put the cloth on yet," Brooke growled as she wrestled with the goopy green stuff. Erik watched in observant silence as the brunette finally did place a strip of white cloth over the smear of green on her cousin's leg. She smoothed out the bubbles of air and began to rub furiously. Erik realized that she was using the friction to produce heat to melt the slime beneath the cloth.

"Okay, I'm gonna count to three—"

"You never count to three. You always rip on two," Anna interrupted.

"Fine. I'll count to five. One, two…" **_RIIIIIIP! _**

Brooke tore the strip away from the skin. Anna shrieked in pain, a few tears rolling down her cheeks, and a shiny section of skin shone on her leg. The movement and noise were so violent and sudden that Erik leapt back with a cry of shock.

"Are you actually ripping the hair from your legs?" Erik hissed as he cautiously approached the girls to peer of Brooke's shoulder. The girl turned over the cloth, slick with slime, and showed him the patch of wispy leg hair that had just been removed from Anna's body. Erik grimaced.

"Yup!" Brooke quipped. She began to stir up the green goop again.

"Why?"

"Because it will make our legs smooth," Anna murmured.

"Is the pain necessary?" Erik asked, aghast that anyone would voluntarily rip hair from his or her body simply for vanity's sake.

"Yes…no pain, no gain." Anna clammed up when Brooke began applying a new coat of hair removal product. Erik watched in horror as the process continued until Anna's legs were completely hairless, shining like glass in the lamplight. The girls switched places. Now it was Brooke's turn to whimper, though she had to wait while Anna wiped the stickiness on her legs away with a damp rag and soothed her skin with lotion.

Erik shook his head. "Beauty is over rated," he snorted.

"You would say something like that. Here, feel the result, Erik." Anna took his hand and, laying against her ankle, guided it up her calf and thigh, all the way to the hem of the shorts. Her skin was smooth as silk beneath Erik's fingers.

"Wow, you'd make a good lotion, Erik. Your hands are nice and cold," Anna said as she released him. Erik's malformed lips twitched in a weak smile. Funny, he felt anything but cold at the moment. The cousin's returned to their waxing, with Brooke hollering and crying at every rip.

"You are such a baby," Erik sneered.

"And you're one to talk, one-who-can-not-handle-eyebrow-plucking!" Brooke snarled.

Anna glanced at Erik's eyebrows, "Speaking of, I think you're due for some more."

Erik blanched and fled from the room before Anna could reach for her tweezers.

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**Willow Rose, Kate, Kathryn, & Kat: **I am honored to receive the compliment of your minionship. Since I adore your dating game phic, I am even more excited to have you on board.


	50. In Honor of Our Fiftieth Chapter

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.

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IN HONOR OF OUR FIFTIETH CHAPTER…

_A Blipic_

It was official: Christine had up and eloped with Jean-Paul the stagehand. They were last seen heading towards Austria. The news hit Erik like flying bowling ball to the chest. At first he was determined to hunt them down, murder Jean-Paul, and abduct Christine. Fortunately, the cousins talked him out of it. Unfortunately for the Opera Populaire, apart from being forced to welcome Carlotta back with open arms, this meant that they had one POed ghost in the house.

After a particularly violent evening, Anna found Erik sulking in Box 5. His tall, thin form was hunched over in a chair, his shoulder blades protruding like the stubs of angel's wings, his masked head bowed. As she gently slid the hollow column shut, she noticed that he was trembling. Anna approached carefully.

"What…do you w-want?" Erik hissed, trying to disguise his quiet sobs. He didn't look up at her.

"Erik…are you coming home for dinner?" Anna asked. It was a stupid thing to say to a man so utterly destroyed as he was, but she hoped he could hear the compassion in her voice.

"No. Leave me alone." His hard, icy words cut through her heart. She wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms and kiss his tears away.

"I'm not leaving. I'll just wait," Anna replied bravely. With that she sank to the ground, her skirts whispering with the movement.

"I said leave!" Erik thundered. He now stood and towered over her, his whole body shaking with rage and agony. Anna cowered, but she didn't move. He didn't understand that she was just as miserable as him.

Furious, Erik grabbed her by her arms and hauled her to her feet. "What about that do you not understand? Or should I repeat it in English?" he sneered. Anna shook her head, blinking hard as she fought her tears. Erik gripped harder, nearly crushing her bones. He watched as she whimpered in pain, but still made no move to depart, or even struggle.

Rather amazed by her stamina, he released her with a backward shove. Anna hit the wall and there she stayed shaking all over.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I just can't stand to see you so sad…I had to do something," she blubbered.

"Did you bring flowers and candy to make me feel better?" Erik said cruelly.

"N-no." She moped her tear-stained face with her hand.

"What did you expect? For me to spring up and start a conversation about the weather? You girls are so simplistic…you don't understand."

"Excuse me?" Anna said, becoming angry now. She drew herself up to her full height, which was still at least two feet shorter than Erik.

"How dare you call me simplistic! And who are you to think you know what I do and don't understand?" she snarled. Erik looked taken aback by her sudden anger.

"I came up here to offer you some silent companionship. Just to be here. I didn't expect you to become as bright as a daisy or to even pour out your soul to me. And don't think for a moment that I don't know what it is to experience unrequited love!"

Erik snorted derisively, "I find it hard to believe that _you _would ever meet a man who would refuse your affections."

"Well, believe it because he's standing right in front of me."

Her words hung in the air, resounding over and over again in Erik's mind. Had she really just said that? She loved…him? Erik took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. All thoughts of Christine were flung out of his mind by this stunning revelation.

"No…no…no, no, no! You're lying!" he stammered.

Anna said nothing. Instead she crossed the space between them, cornering Erik against the railing. Slowly, she reached up and pried his mask away, revealing the hideous visage beneath it. His expression was one of shock and fear, mixed with a glimmer of hope. Anna studied his face for a moment, taking in every detail, from the place where his nose should have been to his beautiful sunken eyes. She loved his eyes; there was something so expressive and broody about them.

Gently, she put a hand to one gaunt cheek. Erik stiffened as she raised herself on tiptoes and lovingly pressed her pretty pink mouth to his malformed lips. Immediately, his whole body began to shake. Anna longed to stay there forever, but she drew away, not wanting to frighten him too badly.

Erik didn't know what to think. Should he even think at all? Suddenly, he was tired of thinking, of analyzing. The only thought in his mind was how good it was to be kissed. So, he pulled Anna in and kissed her in return.

Anna's heart leapt into her throat and she began to shake…and shake, and shake, and shake, and….

"_Anna, wake up!" _

The redhead's eyes flew open. WTF? Wasn't she just kissing Erik?

"Anna! Would you please get up? It's disgraceful to be sleeping in like this," Erik said, leaning over her, fully dressed and looking thoroughly undisturbed.

She blinked at him before realizing it had all been a dream. At once, she burst into tears and pulled the comforter over her head. Meanwhile, Erik was scrambling to get the chocolate and Midol.


	51. Gossip Part II

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…no need to rub it in.

**A/N: **The Gerry looked up as Misty blustered into the den via her magic wardrobe.

"Where have you been?" he hollered. "The minions actually started attacking my guard socks with Cheerios!"

"I was visiting naomipoe's phic. I have a part to play in it, you know," Misty replied.

"But you're my protector!"

Misty arched one eyebrow at her muse, "You whine like a mule. You are still alive."

The Gerry rumbled and grumbled to himself.

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GOSSIP PART II: THE HOBBITS & THE BALLET RATS AND THE PERSIAN & THE PHAMILY AND ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN

Kathryn and Jammes hurried up to their dorms as soon as Madame Giry dismissed them from the post-performance lecture.

"I thought she'd never shut up!" Kathryn hissed as they threw open their shared wardrobe. It wasn't a magical wardrobe. In fact, it was a very plain wooden box that housed a pitiful collection of street clothes, which the girls rarely wore. Kathryn pulled out a rumpled gown of dark green taffeta and quickly slipped into it. She smoothed out the creases, then pinned up her curls. The dress, though simple and unadorned, was not unflattering on her dancer's figure, the color brought out her eyes.

Similarly, Jammes donned a light blue dress of the same fabric and design. The girls had actually made the dresses themselves when the costume department had decided to discard the material. They were proud of them.

A half an hour later, the two ballerinas descended from their room to meet their escorts for the evening in the lobby. Pip and Que looked up when they heard them approach, each one thinking that their respective lady was the prettier of the two. The hobbits, decked out in suitable eveningwear, bowed.

"Yer lookin' loverly, t'night, Miss Kathryn," Pip said, speaking in English. His eyes swept over Kathryn in an appreciative, but discreet manner. He had been thrilled to discover that his favorite dancer hailed from the British Isles.

Meanwhile, Que greeted Jammes, "Ye look like a prencess, Mlle. Jammes!" The girl blushed prettily and accepted his offered arm.

The hobbits treated the dancers to supper at the Café la Dynamite de Napoleon. Technically, the date was a way of following Mlle. Cecily's orders, but the boys could not deny that the alluring pairs of eyes set in each female face had something to do with their particular choice of tactics.

The little group huddled over a pleasant meal of soup, bread, and roast duck, gleefully discussing the intrigues of the opera house.

"Now promise you won't say anything to your mistress?" Jammes asked. Pip and Que nodded furiously, their thatch-like hair flopping in their eyes.

Undercover of the table, Kathryn jabbed her friend in the ribs and gave her a warning look. "Jammes, we shouldn't talk about it."

"They won't tell!"

"We won't tell!"

Jammes hurried on, "Well, everyone thinks that the new patroness has a history with the Persian."

The hobbits choked on their soup, gagging and theatrically thumping their chests with their fists. "Why d'they thenk tha?" Pip rasped, secretly fingering the note addressed to Meg Giry on Cecily's stationary that he carried in his pocket.

Kathryn jumped in, "Because we saw them together at this very café not too long ago."

"And everyone knows that they spoke with each other after the gala performance," Jammes added. The boys said nothing and only exchanged horrified glances.

"I don't mean to speak disrespectfully of your employer," Kathryn began. "But she's caused an awful heartbreak for one of our dear friends."

"Who?" Que asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Meg Giry. She's been seeing the Persian since the summer time. And now it turns out he had this thing with Mlle. Cheney. Meg's determined to ignore him," Jammes said.

Pip and Que groaned with dread as they thought of the terrible scene that would unfold in the Cheney's secret chamber once Cecily found out about this. Meg Giry had been her only hope of getting through to Nadir Khan, and Nadir Khan was her only hope of finding Erik and the cousins. Furthermore, she was still ruffled from her last encounter with the cheeky detective. Smiling weakly, the hobbits put their best feet forward and tried to enjoy the rest of their evening, pushing out thoughts of the inevitable fury that awaited them when they got home.

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Nadir was beside himself. He did not understand why Meg had ceased to correspond with him, talk with him, even look at him! Everyday he could, he waited outside the ballet room, every day she left without so much as a nod or a glance. He sent her flowers and notes after each performance, which he attended religiously, but she never responded. She had even gone so far as to refuse his gifts, sending them back, untouched, in the arms of a giggling ballet brat.

Not knowing what to do, Nadir climbed to the roof of the Opera House one day to think about it. The air was crisp and cool, the last warmth of summer was dying away and autumn was coming swiftly to the City of Lights. The daroga went to the edge and stood looking out over the jungle of brick and concrete. Who could he ask for help? There were no other women in his life to which he could confide, no men either, for that matter. He was utterly alone in this. For the first time, Nadir realized how Erik must have felt his entire life.

As if answering his thoughts, an all-too distinctive voice purred, "_Bonjour_, daroga."

Nadir shrieked in fright and whirled around, expecting to see the Opera Ghost standing behind him, but no one was there. Somehow, that didn't surprise Nadir all that much.

"Up here," came a second, very feminine voice. Nadir glanced up at the statue of Apollo. The fierce glare of the sun forced him to shield his eyes. Blinking back the light, he began to make out three figures lounging on the stone deity. They were none other than the Phantom and his companions, all unmasked and enjoying one of the last warm days of the year.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Nadir said, trying not to wince when he saw   
Erik's bare face.

"We might ask you the same question," Erik replied coolly, gently swinging one lanky leg.

"Well, I asked first," the Persian, argued childishly.

"But we were out here first, so that means you must answer first, even though you asked first," Brooke rattled.

The daroga blinked, then frowned in his effort to make sense of her babblings. "If you must know, I came up here because I am extremely depressed," he answered flatly.

"Really, daroga! And what could have irked your analytical, nosy mind to such an extent?" said Erik, smirking.

"Meg Giry won't give me the time of day anymore…much less accompany me to supper."

"Oh, I heard something about that," Anna chirped from her place above the others. Erik and Brooke turned to hear her. "Don't you remember, Brooke? We heard that English ballerina and little Jammes talking about it with some of the other rats."

"Oh, yeah! They said something about Nadir cheating on her," Brooke said.

"WHAT!" the dark-skinned man yelled. They all ignored him, carrying on the conversation as though he was not present.

"Yes, I heard something like that, too," Erik mused. "I believe little Kathryn said that she and Jammes caught the dear daroga having supper with a lady at a café one evening. I think they said the lady was the new patroness, your little friend from Perros, Mlle. Cheney."

Anna and Brooke blanched slightly. So he did know of Cecily's presence in the opera house. They were relieved to see that he was not disturbed by it. Meanwhile, Nadir could not contain himself any longer.

"_THAT'S WHAT THIS ALL ABOUT? THAT WOMAN KEEPS PESTERING **ME! **I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH HER!" _

"Calm yourself, daroga. There's no need to talk in capitalized italics," Erik said.

"B-but how could Meg even suspect me of being unfaithful to her?" The poor Persian looked completely, heart-breakingly dumb-founded.

"She listened to her friends, of course. No doubt they had some convincing arguments against you and we all know that Meg was already dealing with the general prejudice which exists against those who are foreign or different," Erik answered lazily, climbing down from his perch and turning to assist the cousins in their descent.

Nadir glared at the Phantom's slender back so fiercely that he would have surely burnt a hole through Erik's body had he been endowed with laser vision. "How do you know so much about what Meg is dealing with…and, furthermore, how do you know so much about women?"

Erik chucked lightly, "In answer to your first question, daroga, I will remind you that we theatre haunts hear all that goes on within these glided walls. And in answer to your second question, I happen to live with two women, an experience that has been very…educational, to say the least."

The cousins smiled proudly and leaned against their favorite Phantom like bookends.

"What does Cecily want with you anyway, M. Khan?" Anna inquired.

"She wanted to know about YOU TWO! And Erik!" Nadir spluttered angrily. He regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth. Erik's death-like features contorted into a terrifying visage of pure rage. He didn't say a word…and that in itself was frightening. The cousins felt his body tense up. Suddenly, he sprang forward and stormed towards the door that led back into the building. There was no doubt in anyone's mind what Erik intended to do to Cecily Cheney.

Nadir had hardly moved to stop him when the cousins shot past the Persian and plastered themselves against the door, preventing Erik from gaining entrance.

"MOVE!" he snarled. They didn't budge. Hissing like a snake, Erik forcefully pried them away from the door. They threw their arms about his waist. At seeing the girls wrapped around Erik like a pair of boa constrictors, Nadir got over being shocked and frightened and became amused.

"Don't hurt her, Erik!"

"Please…we don't want you to be a murderer."

"Too bad I already am!" Erik snapped. He wrestled himself free. It was a difficult task. He'd wrench one white arm off and go for the other three, only to find the first back in its place. At last, he resorted to digging his fingers into the cousins' sides, tickling them so that they let go, giggling and wriggling.

Erik darted for the door again, but Brooke and Anna curled themselves around his legs this time, anchoring him to the ground.

"LET GO!" Erik shrieked.

"If you do anything to Cecily—" Anna started.

"What?" he challenged.

"A disaster beyond your imagination will occur!" Brooke finished desperately.

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"We'll burn _Don Juan Triumphant!"_

"Except that you don't know where I keep it hidden."

"I do!" Brooke hollered. "It's in a secret compartment in your underwear drawer."

Erik blinked incredulously, "How do you know that?"

"I found it when I was digging around for tampons that week the Poppins Bag left us to suffer."

Erik ceased to struggle. His body went limp and the girls slowly released him. Nadir hid his snickering behind a hand delicately placed over his mouth.

Erik glowered at him, "What are you laughing at?"

"I never thought I'd see the day when the ever incomparable Phantom of the Opera would be tamed by two unremarkable, strange young women."

Anna stood regally, "Excuse _me, _Monsieur, but no body said anything about taming Erik. We are simply accomplished glompers, an ability that comes in handy."

Erik smiled at her—a genuine, not altogether unsightly smile, Nadir noted—and rose to defend his friends, "And furthermore, my ladies are nothing if not completely remarkable."

"But we _are _strange," Brooke quipped. The Persian stood in contemplative silence as the phamily arranged themselves on a bench like outcropping. They were a charming group and he couldn't help but think that Raoul de Chagny would make the picture complete…plus, few unruly children. Nadir smirked at his private thoughts.

"How could she have found out?" Erik was saying, referring to Cecily Cheney.

"Pip and Que?" Anna offered.

"The stable hands?"

"Yeah, she took them off M. de Pouf's hands and made them her valets…haven't you seen them hanging about the place?" Brooke said, standing to twirl her cloak about.

"No, I can't say that I have."

"I thought you said that you lofty theatre haunts see everything that goes on within these glided walls," Nadir observed shrewdly, crossing him arms over his chest. Erik only fixed him with a stoic, sunken-eyed gaze. He smirked in satisfaction when Nadir looked away, still unable to cope with the monster's face, though the Persian was somewhat shamed as he watched Anna absent-mindedly pluck at Erik's collar while she regarded him with a steady look.

"Well, it couldn't have been those boys," Erik decided.

"Why not?"

"Because I know they would not betray our trust." The phamily sat a moment longer, mulling over the possibilities when the answer hit them like a flying squirrel on a bus windshield.

As one they leapt to their feet and cried, "GERRY!"

"That horrid little imposter!" Erik snarled.

Brooke looked at him archly, "What do you mean by little?"

"But Gerry wouldn't betray us either!" Anna insisted.

Erik stomped about in agitated circles. "I don't care who informed her of our true identities, but she had best keep her pert, aristocratic nose out of our business, or no amount of glomping will keep me from taking drastic measures."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Anna said airily as she examined her nails. "Glomping can go to drastic lengths too, you know." She gave Erik a rakish wink. "In the meantime, perhaps we can patch things up with Meg for you, M. Khan."

This offer startled the Persian. He answered slowly, "And how could you help the situation?"

"Well, we are women first of all…excepting Erik, of course…so we share some common ground with Meg. Plus, we have the advantage of being in a position of influence over superstitious ballet rats such as her. She'd believe the Raven and the Spirit."

Brooke nodded her head in agreement, but Erik made a loud objection, saying that he refused to let them take the risk of being discovered. The look of hope creeping onto Khan's bronzed features now crumbled.

Brooke argued, "But you could accompany us and make sure nothing happens. We'll do it tonight, when everyone else is turning in!"

Nadir began to feel hopeful again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As usual Meg was one of the last girls to leave to practice room. Kathryn and Jammes had left, eager to meet Pip and Que in the Opera's stables for a card game and bottle of gin. Christine was floating around in diva land, writing endless pink, sweetly scented notes to the suspiciously negligent Vicomte de Chagny. Madame Giry was holed up in the managers' office, arguing over the Opera Ghost's latest demands. Thus, the Raven and the Spirit caught the little dancer alone and unawares.

"Hello, Little Giry," a raspy voice croaked from the darkness.

Meg nearly jumped out of her skin. "Who's there?"

"Take a guess." One lone black feather drifted past her round nose and Meg snatched it up.

"The Raven?" she asked tremulously.

"That's right," croaked the Raven. "And that's not all…"

"Hello, Meg," came a thin, wispy voice.

"The Spirit?" Meg asked again, like a nervous child taking an oral quiz in front of its entire class.

"Very good," said the Spirit. "We need to talk with you, Meg."

"Ab-bout w-what?" Meg squeezed her eyes shut, hoping and praying that she hadn't done anything to upset them. She didn't think she had…but maybe she slipped.

The Raven answered, "About the Persian."

For one moment, Meg's heart stalled. "How do you know anything about that?"

"Dear Little Giry, we theatre haunts hear and see everything that occurs within these glided walls," whispered the Spirit. From his place of silent observation, the Phantom made mental note to copyright his better remarks.

"Oh…of course," Meg mumbled.

"Now, we understand that you believe M. Khan has been dishonest and roguish in his courtship with you; and that you have, accordingly, set about giving him the ultimate silent-treatment," the Raven stated.

Meg felt a little flustered and aggravated by the subtle accusations beneath the spectre's tone. "Well, can you blame me?"

"No," the Spirit began. "I don't blame you in the slightest. However, we beg you to believe _us _when we tell you that it has all been a big misunderstanding. Mlle. Cheney was pursuing M. Khan because she wanted information from him on a certain deadly topic. M. Khan has been trying to avoid the patroness. He never has and never will have any intentions for her. His heart is all yours."

Even if the crystal chandelier came crashing down at that exact moment, the ballerina would not have moved. Her legs were rooted to the spot as she tried to grasp the haunts' message.

At last she spluttered weakly, "B-but my friends—"

The Raven interrupted her. "Your friends are well-intentioned, but misinformed and presumptuous. And I hope you'll take into consideration that we know a good many more secrets, lies, and truths than any member of the corps de ballet."

And that was the last Meg heard from the spectres. She stood for a moment, listening, even calling tentatively into the shadows, but no answer ever came. And so, with her head full of things to ponder, Meg returned to her dorm, clutching the black feather.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke were excessively pleased, as they always were whenever a scheme worked out perfectly. Erik resolutely ignored them as he led the way through the secret passageways within the Opera walls. At one point they came out of the wall and snaked their way through the shadows in the wings of the stage. That's when they stumbled upon a most sickening scene. Jean-Paul the stagehand and the youngest seamstress were squared off in a dark corner. The whole phamily halted out of pure shock and watched the proceedings as though they were rubbernecking at a gruesome car crash.

Jean-Paul and his lady finally came up for breath and the boy took the opportunity to tug her towards the stage itself.

"Come on, Musetta!" he insisted.

"No, someone will see us!" Musetta hissed in protest, digging her heels into the floor like a donkey.

"No one else is awake!"

"But what about the Phantom? What if he's in Box Five?"

"Then let's put on a show for him!" Jean-Paul cried. He finally succeeded in dragging the rumpled maid out onto center stage. Though she still whined her objections, a few giggles escaped her swollen lips.

"Little pest!" Erik snarled quietly. "Put on a show for me indeed!"

Meanwhile, Jean-Paul was twirling Musetta about the stage, both of them laughing almost drunkenly.

"See you could be like the great Carlotta or Christine," he guffawed. It was obviously a joke because Musetta giggled again.

"Really, Musetta…you could be a diva. Just strut around the stage and screech at M. Reyer and keep two poodles with you..._LAAAAAA-LALALALA!" _Jean-Paul threw his arms out wide as he imitated Carlotta's singing.

Erik smirked beneath his mask, "That boy sounds just like her."

Musetta shrieked with laughter at her beau's antics. She asked, "And what if I chose to be Christine?"

Jean-Paul suddenly grew deadly serious, "You don't want to be her. Everyone knows she's cursed. The Phantom haunts her and the Raven and Spirit hate her. And now that lover of her's…le Vicomte de what's-it…has left her." The skinny, pimple-faced urchin shrugged carelessly. "I don't blame him though."

"Oui, she may sing like an angel, but she's has the heart of a devil," Musetta spat. "You should have seen the fit she threw while I was trying to fit her costume the other day."

All at once, Jean-Paul left off being serious, the long thin line that was his mouth twisted into a rakish grin. Possessively, he pulled Musetta against him.

"In any case, if you were like Christine, I wouldn't like you. You'd be too high and mighty for me," he said. They went back to kissing.

Anna made quiet gagging noises. "He's sucking her face off."

"Thank you for that wonderful analysis, _Mademoiselle Merle," _Erik said dryly.

Brooke scooted next to her cousin and whispered in English, "You wanna give them a surprise?"

Anna grinned wickedly. "Heck yes!"

Before Erik could stop them, the girls charged straight at the lovers, wailing and howling and cackling like banshees of doom announcing the arrival of the plague. The reaction this abrupt display of madness procured was priceless. Jean-Paul screamed like a girl and nearly broke his own skinny neck as he hastened to disentangle himself from Musetta's embrace. The girl was no less startled. They stumbled to their feet and fled from the stage like college coeds with burning toilet paper stuck to their pants.

Anna and Brooke skidded to a halt when they reached the spot where Jean-Paul and Musetta had been snogging a moment before. Brooke smiled and spun about, "Well, that was fun."

Erik hissed at them from the wing, "Get back over here, you little idiots!"

"Oooo, I've never been on the stage before," Anna said. With dramatic over-emphasis, she swept downstage until she reached the footlights. "To be or not to be?"

Brooke leapt forward and cried, "_That _is the question!"

"And the answer is…"

"_FORTY-TWO!" _The cousins were seized by a fit of silly giggles. Erik, lured out of the shadows, shook his masked head at them.

"All right, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, let's go home." He turned to leave, but the cousins weren't done yet. Anna peered out at the black auditorium.

Brooke sidled up to her, "See anyone?"

Anna shook her redhead, "No. You?"

The brunette squinted at the darkness beyond. "No. What a fine persecution—to be kept intrigued without ever quite being enlightened…We've had no practice."

Erik paused to watch the exchange. Anna looked thoughtful for a moment before addressing her cousin with, "We could play at questions."

Brooke rolled her eyes and sneered, "What good would that do?"

"Practice!" Anna cried, as though it ought to have been the most obvious concept in the world.

"Statement! One—love." Brooke crowed victoriously, jabbing a finger at the befuddled redhead as she moved upstage and positioned herself stage right in stance much like a tennis player's. Anna followed, standing stage left, diagonally from her cousin.

"Cheating!" Anna accused.

"How?"

"I hadn't started yet."

"Statement. Two—love." Brooke shifted position, crossing over to the other side of her half of the imaginary tennis court. The other cousin simply looked confused and frustrated.

"Are you counting that?" Anna asked.

"What?"

"_Are you counting that?"_

"Foul!" Brooke thundered, beginning to move again. "No repetitions. Three—love. First game to…"

Anna stomped her feet in furious, childish protest. "I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that." She then folded her legs beneath her to sit on the floor as though she was staging a sit-in.

Brooke approached her quietly, seemingly apologetic. She bent low and whispered, "Whose serve?"

"Hah?"

"Foul! No grunts. Love—one." Brooke shot back to her place in the invisible tennis court. The renewed challenge ruffled Anna's feathers enough to get her back in the game. She took up her place.

She asked, "Whose go?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"What for?"

"Foul!" Anna screamed happily, "No synonyms! One—all."

"What in God's name is going on?" Brooke snarled, though her remark seemed connected at a different situation.

"Foul! No rhetoric. Two—one." Anna was enjoying herself now.

"What does it all add up to?"

"Can't you guess?"

"Were you addressing me?"

"Is there anyone else?" They ignored Erik's somber presence.

"Why do you ask?"

"Are you serious?" said the Raven.

"Was that rhetoric?" said the Spirit slyly.

"No!" Anna cried indignantly.

Brooke clapped her hands, "Statement! Two—all. Game point."

The redhead shot her best friend a vicious death glare. Things were really on now. They prowled back and forth, the air crackling with tension.

Anna began, "What's the matter with you today?"

"When?"

"What?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Am I dead?"

"Yes or no?"

"Is there a choice?"

"Is there a God?"

"Foul!" Anna shouted. "No _non sequiturs, _three—two, one game all."

Brooke suddenly became very serious and she spoke earnestly, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

"Statement. One—love."

"What's your name when you're at home?"

"What's yours?"

"When I'm at home?"

"Is it different at home?

"What home?"

"Haven't you got one?"

"Why do you ask?"

"What are you driving at?"

"_What's your name!" _Brooke screeched.

"Repetition! Two—love. Match point to me."

Violently, Brooke seized Anna's collar and shook her, while shouting, _"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"_

"Rhetoric! Game and match!" Anna quipped victoriously. Brooke shoved her away in frustration. The redhead finally felt the effects of her friend's mood and became quietly contemplative. "Where's it going to end?"

Brooke smiled ruefully, "_That's _the question."

"It's _all _questions."

"Do you think it matters?"

"Doesn't matter to you?"

"Why should it matter?"

"What does it matter why?"

"Doesn't it _matter _why it matters?" Brooke whispered, gently teasing.

Anna rounded on her, suddenly violent in her own turn, "What's the _matter _with you?" They stood still for a moment, staring each other down, breathing hard. In the background, a lanky, shadow of a man, watched with begrudgingly rapt attention.

Brooke waved her cousin off, "It doesn't matter."

"…What's the game?" Anna wondered helplessly, like a voice lost in the wilderness.

"What are the rules?" Brooke replied thoughtfully. All at once, she shook herself awake and snapped at Anna, "Rosencrantz!"

Anna jumped with surprise, "What?"

Brooke grinned triumphantly, "There! How was that?"

"Clever!" cried Anna.

"Natural?"

"_Instinctive."_

"Got it in your head?"

"I take my hat off to you." As Anna happened to be wearing a magnificent pirate's hat—dyed plumes and gold braiding and all—she easily made her cousin a graceful bow, hat in hand.

"Shake hands," Brooke offered good-naturedly. Anna accepted.

"Now I'll try you—Guil—!"

Brooke clapped a hand over the other's mouth. "—Not yet—catch me unawares."

"Right." Anna waltzed away, whistling quietly. She leaned toward Brooke, "Ready?"

The brunette exploded, "Don't be stupid!"

"Sorry."

"Guildenstern!"

Anna jumped, "What?" Immediately, her pretty face was crestfallen as she realized that she had instinctively responded to both names.

Brooke huffed in disgust, "Consistency is all I ask!" She stormed off the stage, passing Erik without a glance. The Phantom remained, entranced and watching Anna stand alone.

"Immortality is all I seek…" Her voice was the merest of whispers, yet it carried throughout the entire auditorium like an echo. Suddenly, she snapped out her reverie and bounced off stage, right up to her captive audience.

"How was that?" she asked brightly.

Erik was utterly confused. "What do you mean?"

"How was our performance?"

"That was all an act?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Absolutely!"

"It was…the best thing that stage has ever seen!" Erik cried. He was really impressed, but in order that the girls didn't let his praise go to their heads, he added, "Though I should have known that you filched something that brilliant."

"Jerk. Oy, wait up, Guildenstern!" Anna called to her cousin, as the phamily continued on their way home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **The Gerry was impressed, too.

"Wow. You finally got a big chapter done," he said to Misty as she lazily flipped through a copy of Tom Stoppard's play _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead._

"Yup. Hey, I'm telling you…Douglas Adams was definitely onto something with the whole forty-two thing," she said.

The Gerry leaned over her shoulder and purred huskily, "For instance?"

"For instance, the question scene that I just used from _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_ in my phic started on page forty-two of this copy."

"Interesting. Now the _real _question is: Have you finished that list of minions?"

Misty looked very guilty, "Um…no. What will you give me if I get started on it?"

The Gerry whispered his answer into her ear in a low, throaty voice. Misty didn't waste time replying, but instantly shot toward her desk to begin the list.

And extra disclaimer: I don't _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead._


	52. A Plan of Action Finally Emerges

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or anything to do with it…including the beautiful Gerry Butler.

**A/N: **"FINALLY!" Misty leapt up from her swivel chair. "I have finished my minion list, Gerry, so pay up." She approached the Gerry, who was curled up on his sofa, and held out a hand. The handsome Phantom reached behind the couch and produced a huge carton of goldfish crackers. Misty squealed appreciatively and threw herself down beside to him to snuggle and munch (on the fishies…not Gerry). At that moment, Captain Marianne stormed into the den, black cloak billowing around her.

"Authoress! I have messages and such for you," she announced. Misty nodded.

"First of all, this application for minionship just arrived."

Misty took the paper from Captain Marianne. She glanced at it once and leapt to her feet with a cry of dismay.

"SAVVY! Savvy can't be a minion!"

Captain Marianne looked taken aback, "Why ever not? She's certainly qualified. I could use her on my staff."

"Rather _over-_qualified, if you ask me," the Gerry observed as he read Savvy's application over Misty's shoulder.

"No, no, you don't understand…Is she here?"

The Captain nodded, "Yes. Shall I fetch her?"

"Send one of the socks."

Captain Marianne did so. "Oh and, there's a special delivery for the Gerry." The Captain tossed a package to the Phantom. He caught it before it landed on Misty's head. He glared at it apprehensively.

"I don't trust it," he said, eyeing the parcel as though he were silently daring it to bite him.

"What does the note on it say?" Misty mumbled around a mouthful of goldfishes.

"_To Gerry, for your protection, Love Ms. Cellaneous."_

"Just open it…the worst it could be is a love potion."

The Gerry did as he was told. There was no love potion inside. Instead, he found a strange lump of fabric, slippery as a snake and somewhat transparent.

"Wow!" Misty exclaimed. "It's an invisibility cloak! Now you can move around the house without being glomped."

The Gerry's turquoise eyes prickled with unshed tears of relief. Slowly, he turned and addressed Captain Marianne with, "Where is this Ms Cellaneous girl?"

"In the kitchen," Marianne replied. The Gerry nodded, put on his new cloak, and swept out the door.

At that moment, Savvy—bedecked in gypsy attire—appeared, "You called?"

Misty whirled on the girl. Though Misty was but 5'3" herself, she towered over Savvy's 4'11." "What on EARTH possessed _you_ to apply for minionhood?"

"You said we could. You also said that _anyone _who applied would be accepted," Savvy replied coolly.

"But you can't be my _minion!"_

"Why not?"

"Because you and I are _equals _in all things. We always have been!" Misty hissed.

Savvy calmly wiped a fleck of spit from her cheek and said, "Are you saying that your minions are inferior to you?"

"No! No! It's just that they are at my command, like soldiers to a general. I can't command _you!" _Misty wrung her hands in frustration. Captain Marianne watched the exchange with obvious amusement.

"I'll simply have to find you a better position," Misty declared suddenly.

Savvy pondered her friend's point. All at once her mischievous face lit up with an idea. "How about the position of irritating best friend, who mooches off your private stash of Crush sodas and fishie crackers?"

"But you do that anyway."

"So make it official."

Misty sighed, "Very well." Magically, a badge appeared on Savvy's shirt. It was glinting gold in the shape of a stallion's head and set with orange topazes. The words _Irritating Best Friend _blazed across the stallion's neck. "Happy?"

"Very. Pass the fishies, would you?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A PLAN OF ACTION FINALLY EMERGES

"WHAT?" Cecily screamed, her voice echoing all throughout her cavernous lair. Pip and Que barely winced beneath their newsy caps. Her fury was no worse than they had expected. With all the caution of mice sneaking past a napping cat, the hobbits inched their way into their little cubbyhole.

The raven-haired heiress stormed and raged. How could she have been so stupid? Here she thought she had found her one chance at cracking M. Khan's tough shell—for how could he have resisted the pleading curiosity of Meg Giry?—and she had botched the whole thing by making herself seem like competition for the Persian's affections.

That last idea made her snort in disdain. Cecily was not prejudice against Nadir Khan because of his nationality…he was just a little too shall we say nerdy?...for lack of a better word. Cecily needed a man with crackling wit and a taste for fine brandy. Involuntarily, her thoughts drifted to Algernon Moncrieff and suddenly she found the cure for her problem.

In a whirl of sea green silk, she ran to her desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment paper and snatching up her pen. She began to scribble out a note, but stopped and regarded her materials. Determinedly, the young woman crumpled the paper and threw it in the wastebasket beside the desk. She also stowed her black ink. No…_this _letter needed to be done with extra care. With this in mind, Cecily reached into a different drawer and extracted a sheet of light blue stationary, a bottle of indigo-colored ink, and a vial of her favorite perfume.

She readied her pen and dipped in the deep blue liquid.

_Dear Monsieur Moncrieff,_

_I have recalled a promise I made to you to spend an evening on the town in your company. Please do not think me too bold, but I wish to fulfill my promise by a night at the opera. Would tomorrow night's gala be convenient?_

_In your debt, _

_Cecily Cheney_

She signed the note with a little flourish and topped it off with a spritz of the perfume. Carefully folding it and sealing it with the secret society's crest, Cecily called Pip and Que out from their hiding place and gave them the note for delivery.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**The next evening:**

"I do hope supper is included in tonight's plans, my love," Algy said as he handed Cecily into the carriage. She was a vision in an opera dress of pale, early-morning blue, her black hair providing a magnificent contrast.

"Of course!" she quipped. The detective didn't look too bad himself. His evening suit was pressed and clean and fitted to his figure for once.

"Where shall we dine?" Algy asked as the carriage lurched forward.

"Oh, I thought the Café la Dynamite de Napoleon would be pleasant," Cecily replied. The look of horror on his handsome face was priceless and afforded the socialite a good laugh at his expense.

Neither one of them paid much attention to the activity on stage as they sat in Cecily's private box, which happened to be situated exactly opposite Box Five. Algy thought Cecily's decision to go to the opera might have something to do with her silly hunt for the Populaire's legendary haunts. However, he decided to let the matter be for the moment. For now, he was content to simply watch the lady beside him, taking in every detail of her profile.

Meanwhile, Cecily's mind was a tumult of thoughts and worries. Nervously, she twisted her program into a paper knot. Every now and then she stole a glance at Box Five. She swore she could see the shadow of a man in corner of the private box. _Where are the girls then? _she wondered. But that wasn't the only thing making her nervous. Cecily was very conscious of Algy's wicked blue eyes unabashedly studying her. _Does he suspect something? _She gave him a quick look and the blatant expression of admiration on his face dispelled that fear and replaced it with a strange flutter in her stomach.

At last the performance ended. Cecily didn't waste time applauding the detestable, bug-eyed leading lady.

"Come, M. Moncrieff," she cried, snatching Algy's hand and dragging him from their box and into the backstage area. The clamorous crowds of ballerinas, stagehands, singers, and patrons would have made it nearly impossible for Cecily to locate Meg Giry, but she had her sources. Earlier that day, Pip and Que had arranged for Kathryn and Jammes to bring Meg to the entrance of the practice room. And that's where Cecily found the petite blonde dancer, still dressed in her costume.

Meg stiffened when she saw the beautiful patroness approaching. She had not forgotten the words of the Raven and the Spirit regarding Nadir's faithfulness, but she had held onto to some suspicion. That is, until she saw the patroness leaning on the arm of a most handsome gentleman.

_He must be her real suitor! _Meg thought with relief. Perhaps the Phantom's companions were right after all. She began to relax.

"You must be Meg Giry," Cecily said, curtsying.

Meg made her an elegant curtsy, "I am."

"My name is Cecily Cheney. And may I introduce my _escort, _M. Algernon Moncrieff."

Meg and Algy exchanged greetings. The ballerina frowned at his accent, which seemed to amuse the dashing Englishman.

"My purpose in speaking with you tonight, Mlle. Giry, is due to a matter of some importance, that cannot be discussed here. Would you, perhaps, visit me at my house tomorrow for lunch?" Cecily said, hanging on Algy's arm.

Meg looked surprised by the request. "I believe that would be possible, Lady Cecily."

Cecily laughed lightly, "Oh, please, it is only Cecily Cheney. No titles I'm afraid. I shall send my carriage for you around noon."

The little dancer blushed at her mistake and nodded silently. The glowing patroness and her escort left after that, both laughing merrily as they waltzed away. At that moment, a small ballet brat approached Meg with an armful of pink roses and a note. The dancer smiled as she recognized Nadir Khan's peculiar handwriting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Noon the next day.**

"Now what is it you wished to talk to me about?" Meg asked as she sipped a cup of sweet tea in Cecily's sitting room.

The black-haired girl glanced nervously at the door before answering. "Mlle. Giry…this is a very dangerous subject. I hope that I can trust you with its secrecy."

Meg's blue eyes went wide. She nodded dumbly.

"I am perfectly serious. Were certain…_parties _to discover what I am planning…the consequences could be disastrous."

"Contrary to popular belief, Mlle. Cheney, there are some amongst the corps de ballet that can keep secrets," Meg replied defiantly. She lifted her finely pointed chin.

Cecily grinned. She rather liked this impish girl. "Very well. The story I am going to tell you concerns the Populaire's very own Phantom of the Opera…"

Half an hour later, Meg was in tears, much as Cecily had been when the Gerry had told her of Erik's tragic tale.

"S-so, this Erik is our g-ghost?" Meg blubbered, gingerly drying her eyes with her napkin.

"Yes, he is."

"Then he has not yet s-succumbed to th-that terrible end?"

"Not yet…that is where the Raven and the Spirit come in."

Meg gasped, "Are they human, too?"

"Yes, they are two girls…no older than you or I. Their names are Anna and Brooke. I mean to play matchmaker for Brooke and Raoul de Chagny."

"De Chagny!" Meg cried. "B-but why him? Why not Erik? _He's _the one who loses at the end of that story."

"Ay, but you see le Vicomte is just as much a victim of Christine as Erik."

"How?"

"You tell me…what is Christine _really _like?"

"She's a gold-digging harpy! With no sense of loyalty except to herself," Meg nearly shouted. Suddenly, she understood. "Oh, so she's only flirting with the Vicomte to get his fortune then?"

"Exactly. Besides, I don't believe the Opera Ghost would take kindly to any direct intervention. As far as he and Anna are concerned, the only thing we can do is hope and pray."

"We?"

"Of course! You don't think I told you all that just to fill the time of day? What I need for you to do is to get M. Khan to deliver a message to Brooke."

Meg leapt from her chair in shock. "Do you mean Nadir has connections to the Ghost? And the Raven? And the Spirit?"

"Yes…he knew Erik before he was the Opera Ghost. I tried talking to M. Khan about it, but he's awfully protective of his friends. I say, my dear, you look pale!" Cecily watched with some alarm as Meg sank back into her seat, her rosy cheeks drained of their color.

"When he first asked me to supper…he took me somewhere…blindfolded…to a strange house…"

"You've been to the Ghost's house?"

"Yes," Meg whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

"That must have been while they were Perros," Cecily reasoned. She busied herself with the tea things, pouring Meg another cup and offering her some sliced fruit.

The dancer absent-mindedly nibbled on a piece of an apple. She came out of her stupor when a question came to her mind. "What are Anna and Brooke like?"

"Very eccentric…like Erik. But that's a quality too few people possess these days," Cecily chirped as she went about filling her own china cup. Meg arched a delicate eyebrow at the strange young woman's back and daintily sipped her tea…pinky out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Two days later.**

Nadir Khan paced back and forth outside the ballet's practice room. He appeared more anxious than usual, his jade eyes darting here and there. He put a hand in his coat pocket and felt the little parchment note inside. He didn't know why he ever let Meg talk him into passing it on to Brooke Leroux.

The Persian had nearly died of shock when Meg confessed the details of her conversation with Cecily Cheney. Had he been a more vicious man, the daroga might have cursed the nosy socialite to an early grave for her obnoxious persistence. However, Cecily had indeed uncovered his weak spot when she enlisted Meg's help. The little ballerina, eager to save Erik and Raoul from Christine's evil clutches and thrilled to be a part of so spectacular a scandal, took her job seriously. She hounded her poor suitor for two days until he relented and accepted the note. Now, he only hoped that the Spirit and the Raven would turn up today. They usually delighted in spooking him.

"Hello, M. Khan," came Brooke's wispy haunting voice.

"Hello, Mlle. L'esprit," the Persian replied calmly.

"That's no fun. You're supposed to shriek like a girl!" came the throaty croak of the Raven.

Nadir stiffened slightly. "Listen, Mlles. There is something important you must know…"

"Raoul's a fop in real life?"

There was the dull thud of someone being punched. "Shut up, Anna."

Nadir rolled his eyes and hissed at the shadows, "I'm serious!"

"Sirius Black?...or white?"

"Anna! Shut. Up. Do you want to get caught?"

"All right, all right. Proceed, M. Khan."

"_Thank _you!" the irritated man exclaimed. He thrust the note in the general direction of the voices. "Meg asked me to deliver this to you, Mlle. Brooke."

A gloved hand shot of the darkness to snatch up the parchment. "How does Meg know?"

"Cecily Cheney told her. The note is from Mlle. Cheney. As much as I disapprove of the whole thing, I don't believe this poses any danger to you. Don't tell the Phantom."

"Yeah…that was the first thing on my to do list," croaked the Raven, sarcasm dripping. With that, the girls slipped away just as the corps de ballet began to file out of the room. Meg detached herself from a group of prattling girls and went to Nadir, allowing him to kiss her hand.

"Did you do it?" she whispered.

"Yes, only just now."

"Good. Now you can take me to supper."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Back at Erik's Evil Batcave of Doom.**

Brooke frantically tore open Cecily's note.

"What does it say?" Anna hissed. They stood in the kitchen, huddled together; speaking in hushed voices so that Erik wouldn't over hear them.

"It's an invitation to go shopping," Brooke said flatly.

"What? When?"

"Tomorrow. At ten. We're supposed to meet her at her townhouse."

"Erik will never let us go," Anna predicted glumly.

"He will if _you _ask him," Brooke said slyly.

Anna gave her cousin a sharp glance. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he likes to pamper you and he'll do anything for you."

"I'm _Anna…_not Christine."

"Thank God for that. Just ask him will you? And leave out the part about being invited," Brooke said. She hurriedly stuffed the note into her corset and began on dinner. Anna muttered something incomprehensible, but vehement under her breath as she left the kitchen to seek out Erik.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Misty turned from her computer only to discover an empty fishie carton and six empty Crush bottles lying at her feet. Savvy was stretched out comfortably on the Gerry's sofa, her pert nose stuck in _The Hound of Baskervilles. _

"I see you're taking your job seriously," the Authoress muttered, disdainfully kicking a bottle.

"Naturally…I don't wish to disappoint," Savvy replied, glancing up from her book with a wicked smirk on her lightly freckled face.

Misty rolled her eyes and called to Captain Marianne. The Captain leapt up from her squishily comfy beanbag.

"Post this in Minion HQ and tell the Gerry to meet me in my room," Misty instructed as she handed her friend a roll of parchment.

Captain Marianne stalked out of the den and into the foyer of the bungalow, where she had erected a thumbtack operated message board. She found her access to the board blocked by a minion.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Captain hissed.

Childofthewilderness turned to her commanding officer and answered in a bright, cheery voice, "I'm decorating!"

Captain Marianne looked at the bulletin board for the first time and saw that it was plastered with various POTO pictures and posters, Gerard Butler being the main feature. Sighing with frustration, Marianne shouldered the minion to the side and posted Misty's notice, carefully shoving the thumbtack straight through Emmy!Christine's forehead.

The notice read as follows:

_Hello everybody! _

_I just wanted to say I love you all. You are, in my humble opinion, the best readership this side of the Dressing Room Mirror. Just a few quick notes._

_One, sorry if any of you were confused by the "Questions Scene" in the last chapter. I borrowed it from a play called _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. _It's an absolutely brilliant spin on Shakespeare's _Hamlet. _It's insanely well written and it's a total mind-bender. If you're interested, there's a very good film adaptation starring Gary Oldman and Tim Roth in the title roles available at most video places. It's worth checking out._

_Anywho. Also, I'm going on vacation next week, so don't expect any updates._

_Your obedient servant,_

_M.B._

Captain Marianne happened upon a very amusing scene in the kitchen. Ms. Cellaneous was surrounded by several of her fellow minions, all of them observing as she attempted to fix the blender. Suddenly, she was jerked away from the countertop by some invisible force and seemingly disappeared. The others yelped in surprise, but almost immediately, Ms Cellaneous reappeared, stunned and shaking.

"What happened?" Nota Lone chirped.

"It was the Gerry. He wrapped me up in the invisibility cloak I gave him and gave me a thank you kiss," Ms. Cellaneous whispered. The other minions squealed in excitement and jealousy and pressed her for details, while Shibbydm headed up an expedition to uncover the invisible Gerry.

Captain Marianne hollered above the noise, "Gerry, wherever you are, Misty wants you in her room!"


	53. I'm So Tired I Can't See Straight

Disclaimer: I don't anything to do with POTO.

**A/N: **The minions were engrossed in an intense game of POTO trivial pursuit. It was down to angel of mystery and Willow Rose. Things were heating up as Willow's unruly alternate personalities were becoming violent in their enthusiasm…or rather, _one _of them (Kat) was becoming violent and the other two (Kathryn and Kate) were struggling to restrain her. Captain Marianne served as moderator.

It was down to the final question: _What real life soprano was the inspiration for Leroux's Christine Daaé?_

Solecito dragged Kat into her little tent house behind the living room couch to keep her from giving Willow the answer. Angel of mystery looked poised to answer when the front door banged open, sending a gust of wind roaring through the foyer and living room. The minions leapt to their feet, outraged at the disturbance...until they realized who the newcomers were.

"I'm _BACK!" _Misty cried, striding into the house, looking slightly sunburned and sporting a few angry mosquito bites. "Hope you all missed me!"

"Of course!" came the dutiful answer. Captain Marianne greeted the Authoress and the Gerry, who followed in her wake, looking perfectly tanned and buff…shocker. He was greeted by good amount of fainting, squeeing, and Robin tried to glomp him, but Masque of Chaos—the Gerry's appointed bodyguard—took her down.

Misty marched straight into the den, where Savvy dozed on the Gerry's couch.

"Ah, right where I left you," Misty said with a smirk as she passed her snoring best friend. Savvy snorted and woke as if on cue.

"Have a good trip?" she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Yup. I fulfilled two of my life's ambitions: I fed ducks by hand and jumped off a bridge."

The Gerry wasn't far behind. He bolted into the room and threw himself at Misty for protection…she had no objections whatsoever as she started on a new update.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'M SO TIRED I CAN'T SEE STRAIGHT

_A Blipic_

Anna found Erik hunched at the organ in the master bedroom, scribbling away at _Don Juan Triumphant. _Not surprising. He didn't turn or acknowledge her presence in anyway. The redhead doubted he even knew she was there; his music so totally engrossed him. At the moment, Anna didn't care. She was preoccupied with concocting a way to convince Erik to let her and Brooke traverse the streets of Paris…in broad daylight, during business hours…speaking of; they'd probably need money, too.

Anna grimaced. This wouldn't be easy. Eventually, she decided to change out of her haunting apparel and marched straight into the Lothlorien tent. Her movement caught Erik's eye.

"Back already?" he called.

"It's almost dinnertime, Erik," Anna returned from within the tent.

Erik squinted at his pocket watch. "Oh, yes…I got caught up in composing."

"I noticed."

Erik glanced at the white cotton tent and choked on his own breath. The hazy blue electric lights strung up behind the fabric provided an excellent backlighting source so that Anna's slender figure was silhouetted against the canvas…and it was obvious that she was undressing. Erik tore his eyes away, his heart pounding in his ears. Mentally, he slapped himself over and over again to erase all images from his mind.

"Erik, will you lace me up?" Anna asked. The Angel of Music started at the sound of her voice so near. He whirled to find the girl clad in her chemise, drawers, and petticoats, holding the whalebone corset in her grasp. Silently, Erik went to her and began to assist her with the troublesome undergarment. He had done this plenty of times by now…but some how it felt different this time. Suddenly, in his mind's eye, Erik saw himself and Anna performing the same mundane ritual…_only they were in a real house…with windows and it was snowing outside…they were getting ready to go out…as husband and wife. _

Erik nearly died of shock. Fortunately, Anna didn't noticed as he continued to weird himself out. She thanked him once he had done with the corset and disappeared back into the white tent only to return moments later dressed in her old coral day dress…one of  
Erik's favorites…by no mistake.

_AGGGGGGGH! MY COMPUTER IS RETARDED! _sorry…had to get that out…

Anna cautiously approached the Phantom, who had gone back to his composing. She had thought over various methods of persuasive arguing and had concluded that, while being straightforward was the most honest and artless way, the flirtatious use of feminine wiles was by far the more fun. Anna decided to improvise and do a little of both.

She tiptoed to Erik's side.

"Erik?"

"Yes, _mon merle?" _

Anna's mouth twitched in a small smile at the nickname. "I have a favor to ask of you." She toyed with the lapel of his jacket and eyed him coyly. Erik turned from his work, giving her his full attention…and allowing her to wedge herself between his knees. Erik gulped.

"Well…it's a rather big favor…" Anna whispered, not quite looking him in the eye.

"What do you want?" Erik said, dryly.

"Brooke and I want to go shopping tomorrow," she said rapidly. Erik gaped at her in horror.

"But you've never walked around Paris…not even at night!" Erik cried.

"I know! But we…kind of…well, we miss the interaction and everything."

Erik's heart sank. "Why do you want to leave me?"

Anna sighed with exasperation. "Erik, it's just a little field trip to the surface. We pulled it off in Perros!"

"But I was with you then. I can't be there this time."

"So sic Nadir on us."

Erik chuckled, "I'm sure that would be his ideal day."

"He owes us one for patching things up between him and Meg," Anna reminded her friend.

Suddenly, Erik narrowed his eyes at the petite girl. "And whose money will you be spending?"

"Yours of course."

"Naturally," Erik muttered. And Anna knew she had won out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **"That was short," observed the Gerry.

"I know…but I just got home and that Dramamine hasn't worn off yet," Misty drawled, stretching her tired limbs and yawning.

"Care for a cat nap?" the Gerry offered, purringly.

"Oh, please!"

They were about to exit the den and head for Misty's room when a stampede of minions broke past the blockade of patrol socks.

"I might need to take Melissa Aminta up on her offer of her cookie crisp army," Misty muttered as she positioned herself to defend the honor of her Gerry.

"I'm sorry, Mistress Misty," Masque of Chaos growled. "I couldn't hold them back."

Captain Marianne shouldered her way to the front of the crowd. "We have an emergency," she said, her voice deadly quiet. "Apparently, someone"—she cast a burning glare at the gaggle of minions—"_Someone _found a plot hole in chapter 35 of your story."

"The one with Paddy?" Misty whispered in horror.

"Exactly…and now…we have a naked fop on the premises."

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUN!

Such a nasty idea…I'm giving myself the willies just thinking about it. (shivers) On to sexier things…and sleep.


	54. Totally Random

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**A/N: **Okay, this is a totally random phamily moment. It has no connection to the now existent plot. It's a non sequitur, if you please. (Thank you, Naomi). I just had to get it out…besides, it buys time while I fight writer's block on the shopping chapter.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

TOTALLY RANDOM

_A Blipic_

Christine had finally returned to the house by the lake. It was her first visit since her promotion to Prima Donna. Erik was rather surprised when he discovered that he wasn't ecstatic about it. Dealing with Christine's babyishness was getting tiresome. Needless to say, Anna and Brooke had very…_hostile _feelings about Christine's return.

The moment came. Erik poled the gondola across Lake Averne (whatever it's called) and fetched his Angel…and her luggage…and her poodle.

"Oh. My. Freakin'. A. What is…_that?" _Brooke said, jabbing a broomstick at the little ball of fluff resting in Christine's arms. The fluff ball snarled and snapped at the broomstick.

Christine jerked away, defensively cuddling the rabid fur ball. "Don't hurt Erikins!" she squealed. She babbled "ookie-pookie" nonsense to the poodle in a sugary baby-talk voice until it ceased snarling.

Anna stared at in her in shock. "_Erikins?"_

"Yes! I named him after my teacher," Christine said, sending Erik a sweet, angelic smile as he hauled her last trunk into the house.

"Christine, how long do you plan on staying?" Erik asked, eyeing the mass of luggage at his feet, contemplating whether or not to simply tossed it all into the lake and be done with it.

"Only for the weekend, my poor unhappy Erik," she chirped.

"Then why all of this?" He gestured to the trunks and hatboxes.

"I only packed what I couldn't do without."

"But I've already provided you with a wardrobe and toiletries."

"I know, but I just had to have these things to make me feel completely at home," Christine pouted. "Just put them in my room, please. Brooke, will you fetch something for Erikins and I to eat?"

Brooke stiffened. "Do you want to lick the same plate?"

"No, silly. Something for Erikins, preferably low fat. And a little something for me," Christine explained.

"You're _stupid!" _Brooke growled before stomping back into the kitchen. Christine happily ensconced herself in the armchair nearest the sitting room hearth and cuddled her white miniature poodle. Meanwhile, Anna helped Erik drag Christine's luggage into the Louis-Phillipe room.

"So…" The redhead's eyes danced with mischief. "How's it feel to be the proud namesake of a live cotton ball?"

"_Don't! _Ever talk to me about that…EVER!" Erik snapped. His dignity was thoroughly insulted, to say the least. He was the Phantom of the Opera! The Angel of Music! He was ERIK THE ALMIGHTY! How _dare _she debase him by naming that nasty work of fluff after him? It didn't help that Anna was laughing mercilessly at him.

The Phantom and his giggling companion returned to the sitting room where Brooke was serving up crackers and cheese to Christine and Erikins. The human Erik motioned for the cousins to leave him alone with Christine so they retreated to the kitchen.

"Anna, I've come to a decision about this whole Christine business," Brooke said solemnly, her pretty, round face as melancholy as a basset hound's.

"And what is that?" Anna asked, snapping a bite out of a shiny apple.

"We can't let her get to us. It's obvious that our men are becoming disillusioned with her," Brooke said.

Anna anxiously peered into the sitting room. "You really think so?"

"Albeit, _your _man is a littler slower on the uptake."

Anna sighed and plopped down on stack of empty bushels. "I know. I think he has an angst-complex. He has this need to complicate things for himself by angsting and being stubborn. But do you really think _Raoul_ has lost interest in Christine?"

"He hasn't come to see her or sent her any notes or anything. So…yeah, I'd say he's lost interest."

"He seemed to really like you in Perros."

Brooke smiled wistfully, "Yesh…I noted that. It's a good thing, too, because I was ready to ruin your chances with Erik in order to make sure Christine didn't totally zero in on Raoul."

"_What!" _Anna leapt to her feet, staring at her cousin, mouth agape.

"I know. It's terrible, but I love Raoul so much…I couldn't help contemplating it. Are you gonna hate me now?" Brooke hung her head and ventured a fleeting glance at her best friend, awaiting her verdict.

"No, I don't hate you. I-I was actually thinking the same thing myself. You know, ruin you and Raoul so Christine wouldn't dive for Erik," Anna confessed, looking as shame-faced as a child who had found the cookie jar.

Brooke blinked incredulously. "Wow…we _are _so much alike it's scary."

"Twisted minds think alike."

"Indeed!"

"So…how do we make like Christine doesn't get on our nerves?" Anna asked.

"Be as obnoxious as possible."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik had finally finished running Christine through her warm up vocal exercises. Devilish hard to do when she's distracted with tending to her irritable dog—if you could condescend to call it a dog. Having Ayesha in the room didn't help. The cat was positively furious that anything so revolting had entered her airspace. Erikins was apparently enough of a dog to know that he was supposed to chase cats.

On the verge of having a mental breakdown, Erik nearly screamed from frustration and wondered how the chaos could increase. And that's when the premonition hit him. Somehow, in his gut instinct, he knew the cousins were up to some thing. Sure enough, two seconds later a blast of twenty-first century music interrupted the tumult of the singing lesson.

The clamorous racket scared the crap out of little Erikins…literally.

Human Erik lost it.

"Get that animal the _HELL _out of here!" he roared. Erikins yelped and sought refuge in the arms of his indignant mistress.

Christine glared daggers at her teacher. "Don't yell at Erikins! It isn't _his _fault. They're the ones who scared him with that awful music." With that, the soprano marched out of the master bedroom and into the kitchen. Erik followed.

They found Anna sitting in the center of the huge oak table, cross-legged and picking an imaginary banjo. The computer, which sat in a dry, safe corner, was emitting the sounds of Five Iron Frenzy's "The Pants Song", a medley of spoofs on various music genres all dealing with…pants. Anna was currently drawling to the country spoof, hence the air banjo.

_Oh, these are not my pants,_

_I don't know whose they are._

_They smell a lot like Bobby's_

_Cuz he likes to fart._

_These are not my pants._

_How did they get in here?_

_Well, I'm filling up with fear,_

_Cuz these are not my pants._

Anna bowed to her audience, singing, _Thank you, I'll be at the Gran' Ol' Opry tonight._

Christine blinked in shock. Erik wasn't shocked…he was beyond being shocked when it came to these two.

Christine demanded, "What are—"

She was cut off by a change in the music, from country to heavy metal. Brooke came flying out of nowhere, usurping the oak table in a single bound, her brown hair in wild disarray as she air guitared on her broom, head banged, and screamed.

_These are not my pants!_

_Whose pants are these anyway?_

_These are not my pants!_

_Whose pants are these anyway?_

_Are they Bobby's or Timmy's or Billy's pants?_

_No! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!_

_These are not my pants._

Brooke howled in a guttural shriek:

_BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_

_BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_

_**BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!**_

_Are you listening to what I say?_

She ended with a violent smashing of the broom and several plates that happened to be in the way. The next song died when Erik taped the space bar on the computer.

"Hey! We're singing here!" cried the dynamic duo.

Erik stood with his hands clasped behind his back and calmly explained, "I can see that. However, if you continue with this shocking display little _Erikins_"—human Erik ground his teeth—"is bound to soil himself…_again."_

Anna gasped, "Again?"

"Yes, he already left a peace-offering on our bedroom carpet."

The girls blanched, knowing they would be the ones to clean it up. "Maybe he'll eat it, too," Brooke muttered.

Christine, tired of being left out of the conversation, hollered at the girls, "What on earth were you doing?"

"Singing."

"That wasn't singing! That was caterwauling!"

Anna arched a critical eyebrow, "I didn't know you knew such big words, much less the proper meaning."

Christine huffed and puffed like a bloated goat. "Well, I didn't know you _thought _you could sing."

"I don't think, I _know," _Anna argued pointedly, silently reminding Christine of the night in Perros when she and Brooke had won the approval of their fellow vacationers with their singing.

Erik watched the two of them banter back and forth, shrewdly observing the painful difference in intelligence levels. Brooke looked smugly proud of her cousin. At last Erik decided to aggravate the situation. He was bored…what could he do?

"Why don't you sing something…_sweet _for us, Anna?" he purred. All three women stared at him in absolute shock. Christine's bug-eyed face contorted in horror at Erik's bestowing such an honor on her rival. Anna was dumbfounded. Erik _never _asked her to sing anything. Brooke, though surprised, was gleefully watching the reactions of the other females.

After a few seconds' tense silence Anna nodded and numbly floated into the sitting room, where she settled herself at the piano. The others followed. Christine set Erikins on the floor and stood near the piano, determined to make Anna as nervous as possible by hovering. It was laughable really, but at least she tried. Erik took up position on the other side of the instrument as Anna warmed up her fingers with a few scales. Her skills as a pianist had definitely improved under his tutelage, however, the Phantom laid aside all criticisms, content to simply torment Christine by favoring Anna. It wasn't often that Erik had the chance to "play the field" and he was enjoying the opportunity.

Anna struck the first chords of her chosen song. To Erik's surprise he had never heard the piece before. The song took on the tinkling charm of a music box. Anna sang, cheerfully and boldly:

_What do you see?_

_You people gazing at me?_

_You see a doll on a music box_

_That's wound by a key._

_How can you tell I'm_

_Under a spell. I'm_

_Waiting for love's first kiss._

Anna stole a shy glance at Erik.

_You cannot see,_

_How much I long to be free,_

_Turning around on this music box_

_That's wound by key._

_Yearning! Yearning!_

_While_

_I'm_

_Turning around and around._

Anna ended the song with a flourish and gazed up at her audience with an impish grin.

Meanwhile, Brooke had been distracted with watching Erikins noisily clean himself. Her nose twitched in disgust and she fought the urge to drop kick him across the chamber. Suddenly, Christine turned away from the piano, frustrated and annoyed, and swept the little dog into her arms, seeking solace in the animal's affectionate kisses.

Brooke nearly died laughing.

"What's so funny?" Anna asked.

After gasping for air, Brooke replied in English so that Christine wouldn't understand, "That dog was just giving his butt a good bath!"

Anna squealed happily and broke down in a massive giggle fit. Soon both cousins were rolling on the floor. Erik, who understood English, stared at Christine with fascinated horror as Erikins continued to lick her face. _And he thought it would be heaven to kiss her?_

Brooke and Anna struggled to their feet, clutching their aching sides, staggered into the master bedroom and into the Lothlorien tent. There they changed into their PJ's and robes and sat down to watch (and make fun of) _Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, _equipped with ginger ale and Oreo cookies.

Erik stood a moment longer in Christine's company, torn between remaining with the woman he so desperately loved (_right?) _or spending the rest of the evening amused by antics of his hopelessly silly companions. The second Christine started in with the baby-talk, Erik made his decision and marched into the bedroom to join the slumber party. After he changed into his own robe, of course.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

YAY! Review replies are back…some one said they're banned? (shrugs…whatev.)

The Gerry: "Actually, _my _review replies are back seeing as poor Misty just got some cavity fillings done and the anesthesia hasn't worn off yet." (Pats a grumpy Misty on her head.)

**Pleading Eyes: **It was interesting, right after Misty typed out her technological frustrations the computer became compliant again.

**Tian Sirki: **It was for a six-hour car drive that commenced with an hour-long trek through windy mountain roads.

**_Captain _Marianne Brandon: **All the fun is I do believe the nude fop is indeed the Patrick version. I am personally offering him to you for your own amusement, use, what-have-you…after we catch him and clothe him, that is. Of course, if this offer doesn't appeal to you, I'm sure Misty will devise an alternative fate for Paddy.

**Opaliana: **Respect and awe taken. And I shall set the toe socks to work immediately (glares at den doorway). The cousins both have waist-length hair at this point…been some time between trips to the salon. Oh, and Misty would greatly appreciate it if you could either email the picture to her or point her in the direction of its location once it is completed. She's very flattered that you would undertake such a task.

**Charlamange & MouetteHeartsErik: **Your concerns for Misty's are greatly appreciated.

**Sol: **Note of nickname taken. The Fop Off is a good idea. Have you any extra bottles?

**Ms. Cellaneous: **(snatches up HQ Marauder's Map and bestows another kiss upon reviewer). Thank you my dear, you are invaluable.

**Lady Willow Rose: **I believe there are several minions interested in the position of bodyguard to myself, but Kat has a lot going for her—her reputation, namely. It should be…_interesting. _

**Shinimegami14: **Quite the imagination, haven't you? I'm sure Misty and the Captain will find good uses for your talents.

**Silvermasque: **(quirks eyebrow) Don't go giving Misty any ideas.

**RocketQueen101: **Misty was all giggles and delight over your very flattering review. I believe she particularly enjoyed the phrase "phreaking phantabulous."

**naomipoe: **You called it.

**Melissa Aminta: **The mercenary cookie crisps are dearly welcomed.

**mrs. malfoy: **We went to a lake in the mountains. Misty hadn't there in years…poor thing was nearly beside herself when she saw the ducks.

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: **Heaven protect us against reproducing bags.

**TheGreatSporkWielder: **Behold the power of the Wal-Mart truck.

**Masque of Chaos: **(stares at the teleport mirrors in wonder) If I could, I would make Erik Leroux spontaneously glomp you. Thank you.

**LiTTleLoTTe1991: **(pulls on shirt) I think Misty will definitely approve.

**Note to all: **Still accepting any and all applications for minionship. Notice of deadline will be posted in Minion HQ when the appropriate time comes.

Disclaimer: "Doll on a Music Box" is from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang _and I don't own it.


	55. A Day in Paris

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**A/N: **Hey, everybody! Sorry about the wait. My life just took a dramatic turn (all for good, but it's a bit chaotic). Anywho. School has finally started so updates are going to be slower in coming. Such is life still we love it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A DAY IN PARIS

The morning of the shopping trip arrived. Erik mournfully and fearfully escorted the girls to the Rue Scribe ally entrance. He felt as though he were releasing prisoners, that once free would never return to him. His logical mind gave his dramatic heart a sound whack. _Of COURSE, they'll be back. How can they survive without some one to provide for them without risking their innocence? _Erik acknowledged the truth of this with a soft sigh. Anna heard him and shifted closer, looping her arm through his.

"Don't worry, Erik. We'll be back. Our home is with you," she reassured him. Erik turned his luminescent eyes on her and she flashed him a bright smile. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to go out with them, but his fear held him back. At last they reached the surface.

"Now go straight to the Rue de Rivoli and find Nadir," Erik instructed sternly like a father reprimanding his dating-age daughters.

"Yes, Dad," Brooke chirped.

Erik glared at her. "You _will _be careful, won't you," he whispered to Anna.

"Of course! You'd better stop moping or we might start thinking we mean something to you," she teased, detaching her self from his side.

Erik let her go reluctantly. "More than you know," he sighed quietly as the two girls crept into the ally and down to the street. "Maybe more than _I _know." With that, the Phantom dissolved back into his lonely darkness to mope the day away (a.k.a. work on _Don Juan Triumphant)._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Naturally, the girls never went to the Rue de Rivoli. They sent a note instead, which arrived just as the Persian was sipping his coffee.

It read as follows:

_Bonjour, M. Khan,_

_This is from your favorite theatre haunts. Just wanted to give you a heads up: We are going shopping with Cecily Cheney today, but Erik thinks we're going with you as our escort. Please make sure he never discovers the truth. It could be deadly for Cecily…and Meg._

_Have a nice day!_

_Le Merle et l'Esprit_

Nadir rolled his jade eyes. Well, that cancelled his visit to the opera house. It wouldn't do to have Erik lecture him on the impossibility of being two places at once.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke arrived at Cecily Cheney's doorstep at precisely ten o'clock a.m. The butler ushered them into the sitting room where Mlle. Cheney would soon join them. A few quiet moments passed with the cousins staring about them in obvious curiosity. Finally, Cecily burst through the door in a blur of blue taffeta.

"Mlles. Leroux! You can't imagine how glad I am to see you both," she cried, flinging her arms about each of their necks in turn. The energetic young woman backed off to examine her friends' condition.

"You're pale!" she gasped involuntarily. Indeed, though their clothes were as rich and beautiful as her own (though a bit dusty), their complexions had lost most of the healthy glow Cecily was used to seeing on them in Perros. Their cheeks held no warmth and their eyes were ringed by shadows, yet they still looked hardy.

"Yes, living five floors beneath an opera house has that effect," Anna said cryptically. Cecily looked taken aback at such a blunt reference to their Paris home.

Brooke arched an eyebrow and asked in a challenging manner, "What do you intend to do with the information you possess, concerning our whereabouts? And that of the Opera Ghost?"

For the first time in her life, Cecily shrank away from someone. These were not the light-hearted, mischievous women she remembered. These women were cold, yet primal. She could sense them tensing to defend their home and their 'brother' as an animal would fight for its survival.

"You needn't worry about that. I have no intention of exposing you," Cecily whispered timidly.

"Meg Giry doesn't count?"

"Oh…_that. _Well, I had to get through to the Persian somehow."

"Why did you want to contact us in the first place?"

Cecily smirked, "I have secrets of my own to protect. Just know that I mean you and Erik no harm. M. Gerard trusted me with the information. I assume he knew what he was doing."

Anna and Brooke eyed her a moment longer before deciding all was safe. They shrugged and in one motion, dropped the façade of menace and became their jovial selves once more.

"Well, then let's get going!" Brooke quipped.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cecily showed the girls all over the best parts of town. Anna and Brooke were absolutely charmed. The exhilarating feeling of freedom made them nearly dizzy. They relished in the hustle and bustle of the city they had only watched from the top of the Opera House. They were just walking toward the Latin Quarter, in search of an open-air market, when a man's voice called out to them from a corner café.

"Cecily!" The trio turned to see Jacques Cheney lumbering toward them. Anna snarled under her breath.

"Jacques! What are you doing here?" Cecily demanded, more like a mother than a sister.

"Dom and I came for a spot of lunch. I see you have company. Well, if it isn't the Mlles. Leroux! Haven't seen you in ages. Won't Dom be surprised?" Jacques blustered. He bowed clumsily to the girls, grinning slyly at Anna, who wrinkled her nose as though she had just smelled a skunk. (Pepe le Pew skips past).

The tall, ogre-ish man swung about and hollered for his brother. Brooke tensed up. The females scooted closer together. Cecily was just mentally cursing her brothers for their bothersome intrusion when something happened to make her nearly kiss Jacques for joy. Following Dominic Cheney out of the café was none other than the Vicomte de Chagny.

Brooke almost died of shock when the slender young nobleman emerged from Dominic's shadow, his head bowed down so that he didn't see her.

"Here they are! Dom, would you look who's turned up?" Jacques chortled, rudely jabbing a finger in the direction of the cousins.

"Mlle. Brooke!" Dom cried in recognition.

Raoul's head shot up, his sky blue eyes falling on Brooke. His mouth went slack for a moment as he stared at her in disbelief. At last he recollected himself and stepped forward to kiss her hand.

"Br—um, _Mlle_. Brooke, I'm pleased to see you again," he said in a formal tone.

Brooke curtseyed awkwardly and stammered, "I'm pleased to see you, too, M. le Vicomte."

Raoul turned and paid his addresses to Anna and Cecily, finally asking them where they were going. Cecily pounced on the opportunity to exercise her matchmaking rights.

"We were just headed for the Latin Quarter to see the market. Would you join us, M. le Vicomte? It's a lovely day for being outside," she said smoothly.

"Ack, the Vicomte doesn't want to be hauling parcels for a bunch of women," Dom growled.

"I'd love to!" Raoul cried eagerly. Without a second thought, he offered Brooke his arm, which she accepted with a shy smile and comely blush. She did note Dominic's crestfallen face and her shy smile became a smug grin as she sang to herself: _My boyfriend's back and there's gonna be trouble._

Before, either one of her brothers could take Anna's arm, Cecily claimed the redhead for herself…much to Anna's relief. Sourly, the Cheney brothers plodded along behind the two women.

Cecily silently congratulated herself. She had only been hoping to reestablish contact with the girls and eventually find a way to bring Brooke and Raoul into each other's company. She was beside herself with happiness at the lucky coincidence that had thrown them together today.

Meanwhile, Brooke and Raoul were still processing the shock of seeing each other after such a long hiatus. The brunette was unusually silent. She had to fight to calm her racing heartbeat. She couldn't believe that he was here, walking beside her, arm in arm. In her mind, he looked even better than when they had last spoken, his hair grown wilder and his face losing the leathery tan that had been a natural consequence of the time spent in Perros. Raoul, on the other hand, was rather shaken by Brooke's altered appearance. She was thin and pale, her skin lacking any color except the raccoon-like blotches around her eyes. He wondered if she were ill. Anna looked the same. They walked a few blocks in contemplative stillness.

"I was afraid I might never see you again," Raoul whispered, breaking the silence.

Brooke shook herself, "Were you really?"

"Yes. Where have you been?" He eyed her suspiciously.

"With my brother and sister."

"I surmised that much. I trust…I _trust _that you have been treated well," he mumbled.

The girl gave him a quizzical look and a short laugh. "Of course! I hope you are not formulating any negative ideas about my brother. No one could be as good a guardian as he."

Raoul relaxed for the first time and smiled. _This _was what he loved about her. Well-structured, coherent, intelligent sentences were no problem for her quick mind. _Loved? _Raoul's smile became a slight frown. _Had he used that word? _Somehow…it didn't seem inappropriate.

"I am sure that your brother is a fantastic model of the perfect sibling. It's just that…well…I don't mean to pry or give offense…but…" He trailed off, not sure how to approach the subject of Brooke's health, or lack thereof.

"Please speak plainly, Raoul. I don't like it when people walk on eggshells without good reason."

He rushed on, "You just seem to be suffering from an illness. Your sister as well. I must admit, it has me troubled."

"Oh…please don't worry about that. We aren't sick. Everything's fine," Brooke replied. Her shoulders slumped a little. _Did he think she was ugly now? _

Their awkward conversation was cut short when they stumbled into the cheery realm of the open-air market. Anna and Brooke lit up at the sight of the venders and their colorful wares. The market carried a very festive, artistic air. Everywhere bright colors, exotic aromas, and dance-inspiring music accosted the senses. The people appeared very Bohemian and somehow the cousins felt at home. Jugglers, shouting merchants, noisy children, and street musicians crowded the pathway.

The little group approached a stall selling preserves and other jarred goods. A large display of olives caught Anna's eye. Suddenly, she felt a keen pang of longing for Erik. He loved olives. It was the one food he hardly ever refused. She decided to buy him a jar.

"Is Mademoiselle interested in a jar of olives?" the vender—a short, greasy man—asked in a wheedling tone.

"Yes, I'll take this jar," Anna answered in flawless French. To the vender's delight she pointed to the largest jar. "How much?"

"Twenty-five francs," the greasy man replied quickly. To everyone—except Brooke's—surprise, Anna actually began to dig through her handbag for the requested amount. Raoul gripped her wrist to stop her.

"Wait a moment, Mlle. Anna. You ought to haggle with him. That price he name is outrageous!" the nobleman admonished.

Anna could feel the burning red crawling up her face as she swallowed her embarrassment. The vendor deflated, his shoulders sagging as he glared at the interfering Vicomte.

"Would you permit me to help you?" Raoul whispered to the shamefaced girl. Anna nodded wordlessly.

Raoul stepped forward and argued with the vendor. "The lady will pay no more than ten francs for that jar," he said forcefully.

"Ten francs!" the vendor shrieked, outraged. "Make it twenty."

"Fifteen. Not a franc more or we'll take our business elsewhere," Raoul said firmly, with just a hint of aristocratic snobbery in his voice.

"You can't find olives like this nowhere else!" the vendor bellowed.

Raoul shrugged lightly, "Paris is a big city. I'm sure we'll manage."

The greasy little man spluttered and swelled up like a toad, but the tall young Vicomte showed no sign of backing down. The rest of the group glanced between the seething vendor and the smug nobleman, waiting for the staring contest to end. At last the vendor gave in and wrapped up the olive jar, begrudgingly accepting fifteen francs from a sweetly smiling Anna.

In the midst of her glee over the whole display, Brooke accidentally slipped into twenty-first century American mode and loudly exclaimed in English, "Wow, Raoul, that was really slick!"

Everyone turned to stare at her, Anna and Cecily sporting identical looks of absolute horror.

"Merde!" the vendor muttered in surprise, as the group scooted away from his cart.

"You speak remarkably good English," Raoul observed. "I've been working on mine. Do you think you could help me practice?"

"Uh…sure?" Brooke answered lamely, shaken at her mistake. Raoul happily latched on to her again and immediately began drilling her on English vocabulary, demanding to know the names of almost everything in sight. Anna smirked in amusement as she and Cecily strolled behind the chattering Raoul and his patient lady.

"That's what we call _scarves. _We call that _juggling. Flute. Drum. _We call that various things, the politest of which is _lady of the night. _Why don't we explore the florist's stand and Anna can help tell you the names of the flowers in English," Brooke droned, jealously steering him away from some shady looking women.

Clapping happily and nearly dropping the jar of olives, Anna bounded to the flower cart. It was her dream-come-true. The display was enormous and varied, containing all the basics and some exotic types. The redhead buried her face in a bundle of peonies, fondly recalling how Erik had once bought her a bouquet of the frilly pink blossoms. Again she wished he were there. And again she decided to buy him a present. The lair could use a vase of flowers to lighten the mood anyway.

But choosing a flower for Erik proved to be a difficult task. Anna instantly by passed the red roses…it had been done to death. Besides…it was far too suggestive and forward. _Every flower has a meaning, _she silently reminded her self. Her quest was complicated when Raoul accosted her.

"So you can speak English, too?" he asked her in French.

"_Oui," _Anna replied absently.

"Will you tell me the English names of these red ones?"

"Those are roses."

"And these?"

"Daisies." _Hmm, daisies…_Anna suddenly had a vision of Erik glowering over a disgustingly cheerful vase of happy sunshine blooms. He could hardly handle _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang _songs…the daisies would most likely be subjected to slow, painful deaths of various natures, one flower at a time.

"Anna?" Brooke's voice broke through the redhead's thoughts.

"What?"

"Raoul is asking you a question."

"Oh…yes?" Anna turned and smiled inquisitively at the Vicomte.

"What is that flower called in English?"

Anna glanced at the flower to which he pointed. Her face lit up. "Perfect!" she cried as she scooped up a huge bundle of deep indigo irises.

"Perfect?" Raoul questioned.

Brooke eyed her cousin suspiciously. "No, she's acting strange. Those flowers are called irises."

"Oh, I see…What exactly is wrong with Anna?"

"She's in love."

"How delightful! Who's the lucky gentleman?"

"No one you've met."

"Does your brother approve?"

"He doesn't know."

Raoul's eyebrows arched questioningly. Brooke only smiled and leaned on his arm. Meanwhile, Anna was eager to get back to the lair. She had had enough of the dirty city air, the crushing crowds, the garish light of day. She wanted to return to the familiar damp scent of the house by the lake, the quiet solitude, the gentle darkness. She wanted Erik…but Brooke wanted Raoul. And Raoul was only to be found above ground.

"Well, it's getting late. Might I treat you all to supper?" Raoul offered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Back at the Most Depressing Place on Earth…**

In all his lonely life, Erik had never felt so lonely as he did that day. He sat at the organ, slumped over _Don Juan Triumphant. _No matter how much he tried he couldn't get anything done. It had him worried. Whenever he was upset, angry, or lonely he could get it all out on his masterpiece. In fact, he did his best work at his worst moments. The thought was actually depressing.

Erik didn't want to do his best work at his lowest times. He wanted to do it at his moments of highest joy. He thought of Christine…but that made his composing worse. Frustrated beyond all belief, the Angel of Music threw aside the manuscript.

_Ouch. Hello to you too._

Erik whirled around and spied the long-absent Poppins Bag sitting beneath the bulk of the operatic magnum opus.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Erik snarled.

_You know, after all I've done for you I'd expect a better welcome home._

"ALL you've done? What have you ever done for me! You gave them tweezers to pluck my eyebrows! You gave them that bloody imposter to fawn over! And then you _abandoned _me when I needed you most! You left me with _two _PMSing females!" Erik was nearly screaming at this point.

_No use crying over spilt milk._

"Naturally, avoiding the topic is the best thing to do," Erik said dryly as he bent down to gather the scattered music sheets.

_Having…um…composer's block?_

Erik ground his teeth, "Yes."

_Mind if I make a suggestion?_

Erik didn't respond.

_Ooookay. I'll take that as a go-ahead. Instead of thinking of Christine, why don't you think of…oh, say, Anna, maybe?_

The tall, thin man spun about to glare at the unassuming Bag. "Why do you suggest that?"

_Well, Christine doesn't seem to doing much for you lately. _

Erik grimaced…not that that changed much about his face. "That's true. I don't know what's wrong with me!"

_Nothing's wrong with you. On the contrary this is a very normal and healthy process._

"And what process is that, oh fountain-of-bagly-wisdom?"

_The process of learning that it's time for a change in muses._

"But…I love Christine! I can't think of another woman for my inspiration. That's disloyal," Erik sputtered hopelessly.

_Okay, number one: You are not bound to Christine by any promise whatsoever. Number two: Do you REALLY love her? _

"I…don't know anymore. Do you think it would be all right if I think of Anna instead? Just for inspiration, of course."

_I won't tell._

Erik inhaled and exhaled slowly and let _Don Juan Triumphant _slide form his grasp. He grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and began an entirely new composition entitled _Le Merle…_"The Blackbird."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Misty stood rooted to the floor in shock.

"Paddy? Here? Naked?" she gasped.

Captain Marianne nodded.

"Well, we can't have him loose in the house. Heavens knows what will happen," Misty said. She cleared her throat and addressed the minions. "All right I want you to all break into three groups. The first group will come with me, the second with Captain Marianne, and the third with Savvy. We'll split up and comb the area for him. Bring any weapons you possess."

The hoard of minions was instantly transformed from a band of giggly and/or reverent phangirls to an army of deadly assassins.

"Perfect," Misty muttered as she donned her silver cloak and grabbed her violet light saber. "Melissa Aminta?"

The mercenary stepped forward, cloaked in a cape of navy blue and wearing a red rose in her hair. Her army of cookie crisps growled at her boot-clad feet.

"Yes, Authoress?" Melissa hissed quietly.

"I need your cookie crisps to set up a perimeter around the house. We can't let Paddy escape into the wild."

"Why ever not?" Miss Black Shadow questioned from the crowd where she stood with her pirate muse.

Misty strained to see over everyone's heads to answer her, but the Authoress found her five foot three lacking. Sighing heavily, the Gerry scooped up his sweetheart and lifted her high enough to gaze over the huddle of minions. She spied Miss Black Shadow and Will in the far corner.

"Because it is my duty as a citizen of the world to stop horror and terror from striking when I have the chance," Misty replied coolly. "Use whatever means necessary, but be careful how you approach him. It might be wise to take some blankets or whatever to cover him up till we find some fop-worthy clothes. Everyone got it?"

The crowd nodded as one. Melissa dispatched the cookies immediately.

"What about the Gerry?" phantomess13 asked. The minions' eyes sparkled lustily as they eyed the hunky Phantom who now clutched Misty to his chest like a shield.

"Masque of Chaos will look after him," Misty choked out. The Gerry had a very strong grip on her diaphragm.

"No, we'll need to have Masque on the hunt with us," Savvy said.

"All right. Kat, you stay with the Gerry."

Willow's punkie alter ego looked positively devastated. "But…but I want to hunt the fop!" she screamed, cuddling her knives and swords in a very disturbing manner.

"I know, but someone has to protect the Gerry against contamination. I don't trust anyone else to do such a good job of it," Misty explained as she squirmed out of said-Phantom's grasp. Kat was appeased and consented to be the Gerry's bodyguard in place of Masque of Chaos who was placed on Savvy's troop.

"Okay. Let's head out then," Misty ordered. Every one moved into place except Nota Lone who sat brooding on the Gerry's couch.

"What's wrong with you?" Misty asked.

"No one ever replies to my reviews," Nota Lone moped, a single tear gliding down her cheek.

"Oh…Gerry, apologize to Nota Lone, please."

"WHAT? Why me?" the Gerry spluttered, flabbergasted.

"Because you were the one who wrote the last review replies."

"Fine!" The Gerry grumbled and growled and offered the downcast reviewer a quick hug.

Misty put her fists akimbo and glared at her muse. "A _good _apology, Gerry."

Howling in aggravation, the Gerry seized Nota Lone by the shoulders and gave her a Gerry-licious kiss. The minion's eyes glazed over in euphoric bliss and she fainted away.

"Damn. Should have known that would happen. Keep an eye on her when she comes around, Kat," Misty said.

At last, grim-faced as prisoners going to the noose, the Authoress, the Captain, and the Best Friend led their troops into battle.

Meanwhile, the Gerry and Kat sat staring at each other.

"Wanna show me how to use a Punjab Lasso?" Kat purred.

"Aren't you deadly enough as it is?"

"One could always make improvements to one's craft."

"True."

"So you'll do it?"

"No."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Okay, I'm going to scream this one last time and if you don't get it, too bad. IF YOU APPLY FOR MINIONSHIP YOU _WILL _BE ACCEPTED. I WILL LET YOU KNOW WHEN I PLACE A DEADLINE ON IT. But I'm not going to apply to every application individually.

Also, I'm sorry I don't always do review replies. Frankly, they slow down updates, although I do so adore your comments. However, I will not reply to you if just say "Cool" or "Brava." You don't have to write an essay for each chapter, but if you ever want me to take the time to reply then write something I can reply to…like a question or an _interesting_ comment (random or otherwise).

**Nota Lone: **Since you asked a question, I'll reply: Yes, Cecily and Algernon are inspired by Oscar Wilde's _The Importance of Being Earnest._


	56. Dinner and a Reunion

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**A REAL A/N: **I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! Yes, I am back. Thank you all for sticking with me. I'm sorry about the freakishly long hiatus, but life before phiction, my dears. Updates will not be nearly as often as before. I just can't guarantee it…however I do have a phenomenally boring producing class every Monday night for three tortuous hours which might prove useful in the advancement of this phic. Rest assured, I will complete this story. I have no desire to leave it unfinished.

That said. There will only be a few review replies this time around. If I don't reply to you please don't be offended.

**Rachel: **One of the coolest reviews I have ever gotten. Thank you. I loved your analysis.

**Tian Sirki: **Okay, you may be one of the most considerate reviewers in the history of phanphiction. School is overwhelming and my social life actually exists as of now. Thanks for asking. And just for your patience and understanding I'm letting you borrow the Gerry for the night. Do with him what you will…just return him in one piece. Again, my sincerest thanks.

**DarkestDesire88: **Being a starving college student, that dollar offer is actually rather tempting. Anna and Brooke were originally based on two actual people, but they have evolved into their own characters, which has been an interesting experience.

**Opaliana: **OMG! I so started this phic thinking of Emmy!Christine, but then I saw that "Making of…" thing with Brightman. And they all thought Erik was scary. She is the freakiest thing on two legs AND she has bug-eyes! So I guess PhantomCompanions!Christine can be Brightman!Christine. About the whole THE Gerry thing, it's an inside joke, pet name that Phantress and I came up with.

**FFAMasquerade2005: **The Gerry returns the salutations with a smugly triumphant smirk. The tennis match/questions game is a brilliant piece of work…unfortunately it belongs to Tom Stoppard, the playwright for _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. _Freaking brilliant play.

**xotic princess: **The Gerry would like to offer you his services for one night as a token of his great appreciation for the Elven, phan-detector sword.

**Silvermasque: **This may shock you, so I hope you are sitting down. But I have never seen _Dracula 2000. _I've only seen one Gerry movie and I'll give you two guesses as to which one. Anywho. I have no idea if _Don Juan Triumphant _will be performed. It's an idea though.

**JesterWithShame: **(bows) Thank you.

**Red-Headed-Vixen: **Ah, a new convert. (rubs hand gleefully) MWHAHA…velcome to the da phandom.

**Sorrowfully Loving the Lost: **I hope that scene goes well in drama class, but I also hope you give credit to Tom Stoppard and not me. And we'll forgive you for not liking the Gerry.

**Naomipoe: **Of course you can be minion to both of us. At least I don't mind. Sounds like an even trade since we are both your characters at the moment.

**Charlemagne: **Gotta love them cucumber sandwiches. I enjoyed your review. I don't know why but I liked its style.

**Lady Willow Rose: **(bows) My sincerest regards to you and your personalities. It's always an honor to see you around.

That's all for now, folks! Sorry, but I need to sleep. Enjoy the chapter. Love you all!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

DINNER AND A REUNION

Raoul treated the cousins and the Cheneys to a dinner at a posh hotel restaurant, not far from the Opera Populaire. Things were rather dull, tense, and awkward. Brooke's loathing for Victorian society regulations steadily increased as she glanced longingly at Raoul. The Vicomte felt much the same.

"How's that ankle of yours, Mlle. Brooke," Dom chortled, swaying at the brunette and breathing wine in her face.

Brooke wrinkled her nose in perfect aristocratic disdain, "It is healed."

"Really Dom, must you be so vulgar?" Cecily snapped.

"Indeed," Raoul snarled under his breath. Anna yawned. She really wanted to go home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile at the far end of the restaurant something bizarre was taking place. A hole opened in one of the pastel pink walls and a young brown-haired woman, cloaked in silver and carrying a violet lightsaber, stumbled out. Several frightening characters followed her, all wearing capes of some sort and toting an assortment of gnarly-looking weapons.

"What the freakin' A?" Misty growled, shutting off her lightsaber and peering at her sudden change in surroundings.

"Hey…aren't we supposed to be on the fop hunt?" broadwaydreams4ever asked, half-confused, half-disappointed. The small troop of minions grumbled in agreement.

"How did we end up here?" Unseen-Presence hissed.

"_Where _did we end up?" shirahime18 asked as she shifted about in her black samari outfit.

"SHUSH!" Misty howled. "I used one of Masque of Chaos' mirrors. _That's _how we got here. Apparently, it was dysfunctional…or _I'm _dysfunctional because I have no idea _where _we are. Give me a moment to think."

As the harried Authoress massaged her temples, sunk in deep thought, Kanya made two very important observations. The first was that their presence seemed to have gone completely unnoticed by the 19th century folks around them. The red-haired, green-eyed girl eyed a young Victorian woman whose corset was so tight it made her appear like a tube of toothpaste pinched in the middle, then Kanya studied her own apparel: black on black with the saying: "Beware the Platypuses" written on her shirt and a scythe in her left hand. Yeah…definitely weird that no one had noticed the group of deranged fop assassins. Speaking of fops…this led to Kanya's second observation. While there was no sign of the naked Paddy there was really no shortage of fops in the general area. This gave her a rather evil idea…

Kanya nudged Phantom Hobbit (or P.H. as the others called her) and whispered, "That guy looks kinda foppy." She pointed the scythe at a tall, oafish man with impeccably clean clothes, manicured fingernails, and one of those nasty little curly-Q moustaches.

P.H. nodded her comprehension. "He's a fop all right. Look, Sting is glowing." The hobbity phan held her Sting replica aloft, which was indeed glowing light pink.

"I thought that was supposed to happen when orcs were around," Kanya observed.

"It glows blue for orcs, but I had it modified into a fop-detector. Anywho. Shall we?" P.H. asked gesturing to the innocent fop.

"MWAHA….yesh," Kanya snickered. Together the two minions began to creep upon their unsuspecting victim, like lionesses stalking a wildebeest.

"Hold it!" a mighty voice commanded, halting the two minions in their tracks. They turned to see Misty glaring at them.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the Authoress demanded.

"Fop-hunting," Kanya said, jabbing her scythe in the direction of her intended prey. Misty glanced at the man and that's when the revelation hit her full-force on the head, sending her tumbling to the ground.

"Of course!" Misty cried, springing back to her feet. "We're in _Phantom Companions!" _

"You mean the actual phictional world that you created out of Leroux's?" Ellardis Merithdire questioned.

"Yes! That's Jacques Cheney," Misty squealed, pointing to the fop with the curly-Q mustache.

A collective "Ooooooooooh" indicated the comprehension of the minions.

"Let's follow him to the others," Misty said. With that, the motley crew stalked after Jacques who was returning to the most exciting dinner party on earth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**15 minutes later…**

"Lord have mercy, they are a boring bunch," Misty huffed as if she had nothing to do with her characters' lack of animation.

"We could shake things up a bit," Noni-Noelle purred, her jewel-encrusted sword glittering malevolently in the gas light.

"No. The destruction must wait," Misty said firmly. The minions glowered and murmured mutinously. Misty sighed, "I suppose you could go kick things up a notch in the kitchen."

"Thank you," Noni said, nodding darkly. The masked girl and few of the more violent minions slinked off to the kitchen, giggling over RocketQueen101's jar of Mexican cockroaches.

Misty sighed again and shook her head, and said, "Well, now that they're occupied I need to figure out a way to get _this—" _she pointed to the painfully silent table "—party started."

"We could heat things up," DarkestDesire88 said mischievously.

"I trying to maintain our PG rating," the irritable Authoress snapped.

"No, I mean _literally _heat things up." As she spoke Peggy-kun withdrew a devilish looking vile from the inner pocket of her cloak. The label on the ruby-red capsule read _Dragon's Breath. _Misty's dull brown eyes lit up with a manic glint.

"Beautiful!" she shrieked.

"Where shall we employ it?"

"On Brooke!" Misty squealed.

"What!"

"YES!...Just do it! _MWAHAHA!"_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Blast and botheration! _Brooke mentally screamed. In addition to feeling miserably awkward she now felt as though she was sitting in the fiery furnace. She squirmed and fidgeted in an effort to find a patch of cool air. No one paid attention since they were all squirming and fidgeting, too…out of boredom.

The poor brunette time traveler melted like a chocolate-iced cupcake at a Fourth of July picnic in Miami. Her squirming became more frantic and she was on the verge of throwing herself at one of the decorative fountains when someone finally noticed her predicament.

"I say you're sweating like a polar bear in Morocco, Mlle. Brooke!" Dom declared. Under cover of the table Cecily kicked her brother in the shin. Uncouth as Dom's observations may have been they were certainly true.

"Good Lord, Brooke! Are you all right?" Anna screamed, jumping to her feet in panic.

"I think I need…some fresh air," Brooke gasped before elegantly fainting onto the Vicomte de Chagny. Raoul caught her in his arms.

"She's hotter than a live coal," he yelped.

Misty and her minions giggled at his unintended double meaning. Peggy recapped the now empty bottle of dragon's breath. Struggling to regain her poise, Misty took note of the opportunities this event presented.

"Carmencita, Charlemagne, and Pudding, go clear off that balcony. Then stand guard at the door," she ordered. Said minions scampered away to do their mistress's bidding, snickering diabolically to them selves when they spied several foppish fellows moseying about the balcony.

Misty said to her remaining comrades, "Now we just need to distract the rest of this posh crowd from Brooke and Raoul." Right on cue a feather-crowned, lace-swathed upper-crust crone let out a hair-raising screech and passed out. Several other ladies followed suit.

"What the freak?" Naomipoe muttered. She saw Noni and her accomplices gleefully skipping out of the kitchen, empty cockroach jar in hand.

"Cockroaches! There are cockroaches on our food. Someone's going to pay for this outrage!" the first woman's husband bellowed. The restaurant erupted into chaos. Patrons screamed and danced on their chairs, waiters chased the offending insects with shoes, plates, fish, whatever weapons they could find, and the managers fled to their office for some stiff drinks.

In the midst of the tumult, the Vicomte's table remained solely interested in the welfare of the overheated Brooke. Misty leaned forward, hovering over Raoul like a shoulder…angel, and whispered an idea into his head.

"I think I'll take her out to the balcony and see if the night air doesn't revive her," Raoul said as he staggered to his feet, balancing Brooke in his arms. The Cheney siblings nodded dumbly. Anna made to stand and accompany them. Misty signaled to PhantomLover05 who clamped a hand on the redhead's shoulder and forced her to remain seated. Anna, though confused, obeyed the invisible power and stayed in her seat, watching Raoul cart Brooke out onto the curiously vacated balcony.

"Well, our work here is done," Misty said triumphantly. "I've got one last works to throw in this wrench, then it's back to the Fop Hunt."

"What are you going to do?" Little Lemon asked.

"Complicate things." The Authoress snapped her fingers and Algernon Moncrieff stepped out of thin air.

"Good evening, Cecily! Fancy meeting you here," the detective quipped. "Dominic. Jacques." He nodded to each man in turn before his sparkling blue eyes lighted upon the pale-faced, red-haired stranger. Algy was rendered completely speechless.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"You are seriously messed up," Silent Phantasy commented to the smugly smiling Authoress.

"I know, but you wouldn't love me so well if I wasn't. Come, my pretties, we have a naked fop to catch." With a swirl of her silver cloak Misty led the way back through the magic mirror…on the wall.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, on the balcony Brooke was coming to.

"What happened?" she mumbled, feebly lifting a hand to her forehead.

"You had a bit of fainting spell, Brooke," the Vicomte explained.

"Oh…Where are we now?"

"On the balcony of the restaurant."

Brooke nodded her comprehension. "Um…you can set me on my feet if you'd like," she said.

"And have you topple over the edge? No, I think I'll keep you here," Raoul declared, hugging Brooke closer to his chest. The girl's heart leapt into her throat and she turned her face away to gaze at the sea of lights sprawling before them.

Raoul frowned in concern. He had not stopped fretting over Brooke—and Anna's—frightful appearances. This overheating and fainting business doubled his anxiety for her health. Still…he suspected a renewal of the subject would not be well received; thus he looked out at the cityscape, too. Nearby, the bronze domes of the Opera House towered over the surrounding buildings as a gleaming homage to music…and the masked genius who had engineered its construction.

"Have you ever seen Paris from the top of the Opera House?" Raoul asked.

Brooke stiffened as visions of "All I Ask of You" danced through her head. "Yes, many times," she answered.

"I didn't know you frequented the Opera," Raoul exclaimed, half-excited, half-suspicious.

"I didn't know you did either," Brooke replied, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"I don't!...Not anymore that is," Raoul said hastily.

"Why not? Christine Daaé has all basically replaced La Carlotta as prima donna."

Raoul looked straight into Brooke's green eyes with an intensity that made her tremble.

"Surely you know by now that it is not Christine who occupies my thoughts," he growled.

Brooke swallowed. "Wh-what do you mean by that?"

Unconsciously tightening his grip on her, Raoul took a deep breath. "Brooke, I have thought of you everyday since returning from Perros. Everyday I hope to pass you on the street or meet you at a mutual friend's house. For months I've hoped…even prayed. I was beginning to think that you were a figment of my imagination…or a ghost."

Brooke choked on a weak laugh.

Raoul ignored it and rambled on, "I don't understand where you disappeared to. Please tell me where you live."

Brooke swallowed again and wrenched her eyes from Raoul's pleading gaze. Slowly, she wriggled free of his grasp and set her feet upon the balcony floor, turning away from the confused Vicomte.

"I can't tell you, Raoul," she whispered.

"Why on earth not? Is it that you don't _want _to see me? Brooke, have I been vain in assuming that you think of me in the same way I think of you?" Raoul demanded.

Brooke whirled to face him, "No, Raoul, it isn't that at all! If I could I would tell you, but there is too much at stake for my family. We…there are dark things that no one must know of."

Raoul stepped back, his smooth brow knitting in concern and suspicion. The shadows and light played across Brooke's face, creating the image of a…mask. Raoul gasped.

"You!" he cried, too astounded to be angry.

Brooke started back. "What is it?"

"The Spirit!" Raoul exclaimed. If possible, Brooke's face lost even more color, her eyes widening in terror.

"It _is _you! You were the Spirit at the Masque, with the Raven and Red Death…oh, lord…that means you…you are one of the legends…the Opera's haunts…and your brother is…" Raoul choked off his own ramblings and staggered back. Brooke darted forward, her arms outstretched and her face pleading with him.

"Please, Raoul, don't tell anyone!"

"So it's true then?"

"Yes! Yes, it's true. But you can't tell a soul, please, Raoul."

"But the Phantom of the Opera! He's a criminal and a lunatic, Brooke!"

"I am, too, Raoul! I help earn that twenty thousand francs per month, you know," Brooke retorted.

"And the lunacy?"

"I have some of that, too. But that has nothing to do with Erik."

"Erik?"

Brooke sighed, the weary sigh of a true phan who is explaining—for the umpteenth time—that, "Yes, the Phantom has a name."

"The Phantom, Raoul. His name is Erik."

"Oh…he has a name?"

"He is human! Of course he has a name," Brooke said vehemently. "Raoul, please don't tell anyone."

Raoul's sky blue eyes narrowed. "Why? Because a disaster beyond my imagination will occur?"

Brooke blinked. "How did you—never mind. There is some truth to that. If Erik finds out that you know then things might not go so well for you, but more than that…Erik is our guardian—Anna's and mine."

Raoul moved closer, protectively. "I could look after you. You have other friends, too. Like the Cheney's."

The brunette pulled a sour face. "I can't imagine living under the same roof as Dominic Cheney."

Raoul chuckled, "Point taken."

The girl sobered quickly and hastily explained, "But, Raoul, it isn't just that Erik is our guardian. He is our friend, our brother…or at least to me he is a brother. Anna's in love with him."

"Ah…that explains _that_ then," Raoul remarked dryly.

Brooke giggled, then sobered again. "But in all seriousness, Raoul. You can't tell anyone about us."

"How did you even get mixed up with him?"

"It's complicated."

Raoul's features darkened as he stepped forward and gripped her shoulder. "Did he force—"

"No! It wasn't like that at all. If anything it was the other way around."

"What!"

Brooke the Vicomte with a steady gaze, "Raoul, I'll tell you everything if you swear on your father's grave to not breath a word of it to anyone."

The young man jerked back. "That is rather intense."

"I want you to understand how important this is to me."

Raoul exhaled and raked a hand though his brown curls. "Very well. You have my word."

"Good, but I can't tell you here."

"What! That isn't fa—" Raoul's protest was silenced as the coy brunette moved in close and place her dainty palms against his chest.

"Raoul, the balcony of a crowded restaurant is hardly the place to disclose such details. It's a long story and I would wish to do it justice."

The Vicomte didn't know what struck him more: her eloquence or her nearness. Whatever is was he dumbly nodded his compliance.

"Besides…I don't feel well," Brooke added as her head sagged against Raoul's chest. Pleasantly surprised, he wrapped her in his embrace. For several moments they remained in that position, blissfully content. At least the lady reluctantly with drew. A deep blush overcame her cheeks and she was too embarrassed to meet Raoul's eyes.

"Um…we should go in. Anna's probably having a heart attack."

Raoul chuckled. "Not so fast! Where shall I see you again?"

"Come to the opera house tomorrow."

"Is that not a little risky?"

"Maybe, but it would work best that way I can't leave the building after dawn because it's too dangerous. And Erik is an early riser…it would just be better this way."

"All right. I'll be there first thing in the morning."

"No, come in the afternoon. Everyone will be at rehearsal."

"How will I find you?"

Brooke laughed. "Oh, _I'll _find _you." _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**In the restaurant…**

For several excruciatingly awkward seconds Algy remained motionless with his eyes fixed on Cecily's pretty red-haired friend. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. There was something haunting and vulnerable in her wary brown eyes and ghostly complexion that caught his fancy; although that ghostly complexion was currently being destroyed by a burning blush brought on by the extreme discomfort of the moment.

"Are you going to keep staring like a urchin in a candy store or do you want to be introduced?" Jacques' blustery voice broke through Algy's trance.

"What? Oh, of course! Cecily, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friend?" Algy said.

A less-than-thrilled Cecily rose stiffly and said in a cold, formal tone, "M. Moncrieff, might I present Anna Leroux. We met in Perros over the summer. Anna, this is Algernon Moncrieff, a friend of the family."

Reluctantly, Anna stood, curtsied, and offered her hand to the detective. Algy eagerly ceased the proffered hand and planted a gallant kiss upon it.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mlle. Leroux," he purred in accented French.

"Don't bother with that horrid French of yours, M. Moncrieff. She speaks English fluently," Cecily snapped as she motioned for the Brit to be seated.

(And for the remainder of the chapter italics shall designate "English"

"_Truly?" _the gentleman quipped, eagerly addressing the redhead to exclusion of all the others.

"_Yes."_

"_How fluent are you?"_

"_I speak English perfectly." _

"_And without a trace of a French accent! That is an accomplishment."_

Anna nodded silently and concentrated on the crème brulee sitting before her. Algy didn't take the hint.

"_Are you only visiting Paris or staying for the season?"_

"_Staying."_

"_Might I inquire where?"_

Anna dodged the question effortlessly, _"Isn't that a rather forward question?"_

Algy chuckled. _"I suppose it is, but surely you can answer it."_

Anna switched languages. "Ask my friends here. I never give out my address."

"That is very true," Cecily interjected. "I just recently found the Lerouxs for the first time since leaving Perros."

"So you are not alone then, here in Paris?"

"Certainly not. My sister is on the balcony with the Vicomte de Chagny."

"And don't forget that queer brother of yours," Dom bawled around a mouthful of cake.

Cecily hissed at him and Anna visibly stiffened.

Algy laughed it off. "Every family has its oddities. Isn't that right, Cecily?"

The black-haired socialite glared at the charismatic detective. His behavior had her livid with jealousy, embarrassment, and irritation. She couldn't find in her heart to direct her animosity at Anna, because, even without knowledge of the girl's attachment to Erik, Cecily could plainly see that Anna did not relish the detective's obviously amorous overtures. (A/N: How's that for alliteration?)

"_How do you know the Vicomte?" _Algy asked.

"_From Perros," _Anna snipped in reply.

"_Are he and you sister—"_

"_I really can't say." _Just when Anna was about to throw her crème brulee in Algy's irritatingly perfect face Brooke and Raoul reappeared. Everyone stood and Algy was introduced to the newcomers. Anna managed to corner her cousin.

"I want to go home," she hissed in Brooke's ear.

"But—"

"NOW!"

"Okay, okay." Brooke turned to Raoul and said, "We had a lovely day, but our brother will be missing us. So I'm afraid we must leave you."

Roaul nodded. "I hope we shall meet again soon. I'll escort you to the door."

The girls bid farewell to Cecily, making promises to visit her. Much to Anna's frustration, Algy not only followed them out of the restaurant, but also insisted on carrying Anna's purchases for her. She seethed with loathing as he examined the parcels meant for Erik.

"_Do you like olives?" _he asked.

"_I hate olives," _she snarled.

"_Then why did you buy some?"_

"_They're for my brother."_

"_Oh! And the irises?"_

"_For my brother."_

Ahead of the mismatched couple Raoul shook his moppy head at Algy's density. At the door of the restaurant, to the detective's surprise, Raoul neither offered his own carriage to the ladies or his company on their journey home.

"_Might I escort you home?" _Algy inquired as he handed Anna her belongings.

"_That is quite unnecessary," _she replied hastily. Confused, Algy stepped back. Raoul came to her rescue like an older brother and, pressing an affectionate kiss to her hand, helped her into the carriage. Algy watched in silence as Raoul exchanged a tenderer farewell with Brooke and was surprised to hear Anna say to the driver, "To the Opera, s'il vous plait."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That Algy guy seemed to really like you," Brooke ventured.

Anna exploded, "Thank you, Captain Obvious! I hadn't noticed."

"What's wrong with that? It's not like you have to like him back."

"He got on my nerves. All charm and good looks and expecting me to fall in love with him on the spot."

"Good looks don't appeal to you any more?"

"No, they don't."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**At the batcave…**

Erik was so deep in his composition that he did not notice the lateness of the hour until he heard the door to the Rue Scribe entrance open. In an instant he was on his feet, eager to see his beloved companions. He rushed out of the bedroom, but stopped at the kitchen door when he heard them talking.

"I can't wait to go again," Brooke's voice quipped.

"I can!" Anna hissed. Erik could hear her foul mood.

"Oh, come on, Anna. It was fun."

"It smelled and it was too bright."

"You're turning into a regular hermit."

"Whatever. I want to see Erik."

The Phantom started at the sound of his name. Not wishing to be caught eavesdropping, he pushed the door open and entered the kitchen. Elated by the very sight of him, Anna forgot all restraint and threw herself at him and cried his name. Erik instinctively put out his arms to catch her. Brooke offered the bewildered Angel of Music a sly smirk and a quirked eyebrow as she slipped out of the kitchen.

Erik internally panicked…actually he might have internally hemorrhaged. There was a woman holding on to him. Not just any woman, but the very woman for whom he had been composing not five minutes before. And not only was she holding, she was clinging to him as though she feared he would disappeared the moment she let go. Her arms were clasped tightly about her neck and her face was buried in his bony shoulder.

At that moment an exquisite ache bloomed in Erik's heart. The feeling was not foreign to him. It had been haunting him since the Fourth of July, but he had fought against it…until now. The longing and loneliness of today had broken through his strength and reserve, leaving him powerless to fight the ache of attraction any longer. With a soft sigh, Erik gave into the pull.

For her part, Anna had never been so relieved in all her life. The day above ground had taken a toll on her and the encounter with Algy had shaken her. She felt that her love and loyalty for Erik was something sacred and Algy had intruded on that.

At last the girl pushed herself away, smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry…got a little carried away," she mumbled.

"There's no need to apologize, mon merle, it is nice to be missed," Erik replied tenderly. "What did you buy?"

Anna's embarrassment evaporated instantly. "Oh! I got you some presents!" she chirped.

"Presents? For me…but I thought…" Erik stuttered.

"What? That I'd spend it all on myself? I'll do that next time. Here…open them!" Anna bounced on her heels as she pushed the two parcels toward the Phantom. Erik blushed self-consciously as he unwrapped the heavier of the two packages. Out tumbled a huge jar of olives. Erik laughed.

"Trying to fatten me up?" he teased.

"It's the one food you never turn down…unless Christine's really depressed you. I had a heck of a time bargaining for those. Rao…uh, _really _tough vendors in the Latin district," Anna spit out, breathing a silent prayer of thanks that she had caught her near-slip up. Erik didn't notice as he unwrapped the bouquet of irises. He stared at the flowers dumbfounded.

Flowers…Anna had bought him flowers.

"I thought the lair could use some brightening up," Anna said.

"They're lovely," Erik choked out. On impulse he held the blossoms to Anna's cheek.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just seeing how it would look."

"If I was an iris?"

Erik chuckled. "No. The color of the flowers looks twice as lovely against your skin. I want to see about having a dress made for you in this exact shade."

"Oh!" Anna exclaimed as she tried to hide the blush on her face. "Does that mean you'd come shopping with us?"

Erik grimaced. "We'll see."

The redhead squealed in delight, gave Erik a quick hug, and then bolted out the door to tell Brooke. Erik sighed as he regarded the irises again. He decided that they were his favorite flower. He'd never forget the smile on Anna's face as she ran to embrace him because in that moment the long dormant hope that he could be a normal man resurfaced. She gazed at him in the same manner he had seen countless women gaze at handsome men. With her things would be different.

Gently, Erik installed the irises in the loveliest vase he could find and toted it back to the organ, almost reverently placing the flowers on a stool beside the instrument. He picked up his pen to compose again, with fresh inspiration, when a chorus of shrill giggles exploded from the Lothlorien tent. Erik growled and cursed. Maybe companionship was overrated. He looked at the irises. Maybe not…

Inside the tent Brooke whispered, "Do you think he suspects anything about today?"

Anna shook her redhead, "Nope. Not at all."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **The Gerry and Kat were wrapped up in an intense game of Texas Hold 'Em when Nota Lone came to. The minion, still reeling from the Gerry's passionate kiss, almost levitated into a sitting position. She blinked and glanced around the den. Her roommates remained completely oblivious to her presence. Had Kat and her armory not been present Nota would have found herself with an ideal glomping opportunity, but as it was the minion figured she'd best respect the Gerry's personal space.

Thus, left with nothing to do, Nota sidled over to Misty's cluttered desk. The laptop glowed innocently, the files marked **REVIEWS **were stuffed into a magazine holder, and the official minion list was…missing. Nota frowned. That didn't seem right.

"Hey, Gerry?" she ventured timidly.

"Huh?" came the grunted reply.

"Where does Misty keep her official minion list?"

"On the bulletin board above the desk."

"It isn't there."

"What!" The Gerry leapt to his feet, sending a whirlwind of cards into the air, effectively ending the game, which hadn't been going too well for him anyway. He stomped over to where Nota stood pointing to the suspiciously blank space on the bulletin board.

"That isn't good," he muttered. "We have to find it."

"I just did," Kat announced, her tone dark and foreboding. Ever so slowly, Nota and the Gerry turned around. A truly hideous sight met their eyes.

"**_OH MY SWEET OPERA GHOST!"_** Nota shrieked.

Standing in the den doorway, with the official minion list wrapped around his midsection like a paper kilt, was…Paddy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**P.S. **Oh, on a very cool note, I was researching for my report on Jane Austen (a.k.a. Goddess of the English Language) and found two places in which she was referred to as an 'authoress.' I felt so highly privileged to share the same title. Anywho. Tootles!


	57. The Stranger

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**A/N: **The wardrobe flew open and out blew Misty Breyer, silver cloak billowing behind her. The Gerry started from his nap on a lumpy red couch. Stale gold fishes and lint-speckled gummy worms scattered to the floor as he staggered to his feet.

"You're getting fat," Misty observed coolly.

The Gerry blinked at her, trying to bring his eyes into focus. He subconsciously covered his developing beer belly with his black silk robe.

"Where the hell have you been?" he growled.

"Up to my neck in life, school, work, boyfriend…not that I mind that part."

The Gerry blinked again. "You have a boyfriend?"

A blushing Misty giggled, "Yes."

"Wonderful."

"Hey, I'm sure plenty of the minions will be lined up to have you."

The Gerry shuddered.

Misty poked around her dusty desk, gingerly pulling out the massive stack of reviews crammed into her mailbox. She flipped through them.

"I see I've been missed," she muttered.

"_Phantom Companions _is over a year old now," the Gerry informed her.

Misty glanced at her calendar. "So it is. Imagine that." Just then Captain Marianne appeared in the doorway of the den.

"OMG! Where have you been?" the Captain shrieked. She flew at the Authoress and enveloped her in a massive hug. After nearly strangling the Authoress, Captain Marianne stepped back and said: "You haven't written anything in months!"

Misty wigged out.

"I'VE BEEN WRITING MY GUTS OUT!"

Captain Marianne squeaked and ran behind the Gerry.

Misty ranted on, "Do you know how difficult it is to churn out just one third of a screenplay? Well, it's hard."

The Gerry calmly wiped spit from his mask and replied, "Well, then I suppose we can expect your talents to have improved."

Misty glared at her muse, plopped down in her swivel chair, and got to work on a blipic….

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

BUT FIRST! It would behoove me to tell you about the notice that later appeared on the bulletin board of Minion HQ.

The notice read as follows:

_Dear Minions and Readers,_

_My sincerest apologies for the long hiatus, but rest assured that I am not dead. I am simply swamped with life. New school, more homework, new friends, and the lot; I'm sure you will all understand. _

_After debating with myself for some time, I have decided that it would be good for me to finish what I've started here with _Phantom Companions. _However, I will not be able to work on it until school lets out. So it will be another month or so before the installments start popping up again. _

_Also, I have decided to cut out any major integration of minions. I lost the list when I switched computers and I don't have the time to redo it. It's more than I can handle. Terribly sorry, but such is life, still we love it. Therefore, I shall be **placing a halt on any further sign ups.** **That means no more minion applications! **_

_Thank you so much for your patience. And now here is a brief blipic, inspired by Marianne Brandon._

_Your obedient servant,_

_M.B._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

THE STRANGER

**In the Batcave…**

Erik left the master bedroom headed for the surface for his usual pre-dawn amble through the streets of Paris. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a strange man standing in the sitting room.

If possible, the stranger looked more out of place in the beautiful, pink room than Erik did in his traditional black suit. The stranger wore a filthy black trench coat and a tattered fedora. His hair was stringy and his face scruffy. And his person was decorated with various weapons, all of an especially violent nature.

Erik jumped back in surprise. He was so surprised that he forgot to Punjab the stranger on the spot.

"Who the hell are you?" Erik snarled.

The intruder didn't answer. He stood a moment, sizing Erik up. Finally, he spoke in a deep, gravely voice.

"Are you the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Yes, what do you want?"

"To kill you."

Erik's sunken eyes bulged. He barely had time to utter a shocked "What!" when the stranger flew at him, wielding a blaring buzz saw. Without thinking, Erik screamed and ran in back into the master bedroom.

He had just slammed the door and locked it when the robed cousins assaulted him. They stared up at him with wide eyes, their hair bedraggled.

"Erik, what's happening?" Anna asked.

"It sounds like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre out there!" Brooke exclaimed.

Just then the buzz saw rammed through the wall next to Erik's head. The girls shrieked. Erik grabbed their flailing wrists and shot across the room to the hidden door, which led to the Louis-Phillipe room. The Louis-Phillipe room provided temporary sanctuary. Anna and Brooke huddled close to Erik.

"Who was that?" Anna wailed.

"I don't know. I just walked out the door and there he was. I demanded to know who he was and what he wanted, but all he said was the he wanted to kill me. Then he made good on his threat," Erik explained in a shaky voice.

That was what frightened the girls most of all: the quiver in Erik's normally calm, steady voice. In all circumstances, no matter how harrowing, Erik always managed to maintain a veneer of absolute control, if not of the circumstances themselves, then at least of himself. Now he was shaking like a leaf.

That's when the temporary part of their safety came into play. In one moment, the stranger had demolished the door and charged into the room, buzz saws screaming. He stopped short when he saw the trembling girls clinging to the Phantom. Anna gasped. She recognized him at once.

"Holy crap! It's Van Helsing!" she exclaimed. The stranger halted and turned off the buzz saw. He glared at Anna as though trying to read her mind.

Brooke peered at the stranger. "OMG, you're right, Anna. Ugh, he reeks like a Parisian sewage line."

Erik stared at the girls, though keeping Van Helsing (for that is who it was) in his peripheral vision. "How do you know him?"

"He's a monster hunter."

"From a movie."

"Except in the book, he's an old man."

"In the movie he's…" Brooke stopped. She slapped a palm to her forehead and moaned, "He can't really be Gabriel, can he?"

"The angel?" Anna gasped.

Erik glanced over the stunned stranger. If he had had a nose he would have wrinkled it in disgust as he said, "If that's an angel, I'd hate to see what a demon looks like."

Brooke quirked an eyebrow at Van Helsing. "I still say he stole that look from Aragorn."

Erik nodded, "I can definitely see the influence."

Anna added, "Good thing _you _can't smell it, too."

At last Van Helsing spoke for himself, or rather to himself. "They said nothing about any damsels other than the soprano."

"What was that?" Erik snapped.

Van Helsing ignored him and addressed the cousins, "Don't be afraid. I've come to rescue you from this monster."

Anna bristled, "He isn't a monster!"

"Well, he's on my list. That makes him a monster." Van Helsing reached into a pocket and produced a grimy parchment roll. He held it out for Anna and Brooke to see. They snatched it up and read the following (in very poor handwriting):

_Mr. Hyde_

_Dracula _

_Frankenstein _: )

_Werewolf_

_Phantom of the Opera_

_Creature from the Black Lagoon_

_The Blob_

_Shrek_

"You can't kill Shrek!" Anna shrieked, her shrill voice nearly shattering any glass in the room.

"He's an ogre isn't he?" Van Helsing said.

"But he's a cool ogre!" Anna argued. Meanwhile, Brooke had found a pen and was scribbling away like mad on the parchment.

"Stop that!" Van Helsing shouted. He lunged towards her, but she jumped out of the way.

"You forgot a few people. Just helping you out. See?"

She held out the updated list:

_Mr. Hyde_

_Dracula _

_Frankenstein _: )

_Werewolf_

_Phantom of the Opera _; )

_Creature from the Black Lagoon_

_The Blob_

_Shrek _; )

_Son of Dracula_

_Bride of Frankenstein_

_Darth Vader_

_Darth Maul_

_Lord Voldemort_

Anna grabbed the list. She giggled and handed it over to Van Helsing. His eyes bulged.

"Since when does Dracula have a son?"

"Since Universal started making sequels."

"And I can't kill Frank's bride."

"Why not?"

"Because…"

"Because you made an exception for him?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you can make an exception for Erik."

"Who is Erik?"

The girls pointed to Erik who stood behind them, confused, wary, and amused all at once.

"I have no record of his having a name," Van Helsing declared.

"Then you must mean the Lloyd Webber version. Better luck next time," Brooke quipped. She pushed Van Helsing toward the door. All at once the monster hunter grabbed her, shoved her behind him, then reached for Anna. The redhead screamed bloody murder.

"This is for your own good," Van Helsing roared. "Can't you see he's brain-washed you?"

Anna put up quite a fight, but not for long. No sooner had Van Helsing began to win the game of tug-o-war when Erik fairly ripped Anna from his grasp.

The Phantom's blue eyes burned with rage. His magnificent voice echoed through the room like thunder, "DO NOT TOUCH HER!"

And that's when stuff hit the fan.

Van Helsing whipped out a pistol, which looked more like a fancy hair dryer, and fired a shot at Erik. The bullet grazed the Phantom's left shoulder. Erik shouted in pain, clutching his wound. Anna screamed. She gathered her senses in time to catch Erik as he staggered backwards.

Brooke did what she did best: she became violent. She whacked Van Helsing upside the head with one of Christine's high-heeled slippers. Then she threw Ayesha at him. The cat spat and clawed the scruffy man's face to shreds. Van Helsing's screeches reached volume levels that Christine's singing couldn't reach on a good day.

While Van Helsing jerked about like a schizophrenic chicken Erik got back on his feet. He drew his Punjab lasso out of his pocket. The little string of cat's gut snaked through the air and wrapped around Van Helsing's dirty neck. Ayesha abandoned ship. Erik tightened his grip. Van Helsing fell to his knees, gagging and gasping.

"You barbarian," Van Helsing wheezed at Erik. "You attack a defenseless opponent?"

"I'd hardly call you defenseless, dear sir," Erik said.

"You're a…monster."

Erik shrugged one gaunt shoulder. "That's not much incentive for me to fight fair, now is it?"

The Phantom pulled harder. Beneath a permanent five o'clock shadow, Van Helsing began to turn a sickly shade of blue. Anna felt that this was all a bit much and she gently pried Erik's fingers away from the lasso. Van Helsing collapsed, his thick chest heaving as he sucked in precious oxygen.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" Erik and Brooke both shouted at Anna.

She shook her red head. "No, I just think there is a better way to go about this." From behind her, she magically produced the Poppins Bag. "Bag, could we have a porthole?"

_To where?_

Anna whispered to the Bag.

_Heheh...that's a good one. Here you go._

Anna reached into the Bag and withdrew what looked like a circular piece of black cloth. She stuck the cloth as far up on a wall as she could and then stretched the black cloth till it touched the carpet. It created a porthole just big enough for a man of Van Helsing's size to walk through. Or to be tossed through, which is actually what happened.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Brooke said. "Brilliant idea, Anna."

"Thank you. Erik, let's go to the lab and get you fixed up." She spoke as she dismantled the porthole.

Erik reluctantly followed her. Brooke tagged along.

"Can we go haunting after this?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**On the other side of the porthole…**

Van Helsing found himself sitting in the middle of Minion HQ. Normally, most of the minions would have been thrilled to see him, but, as he had just shot Erik, they were a few leers short of hospitable. But they weren't going to kill him…not yet anyway.


	58. Circle of Trust

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

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CIRCLE OF TRUST

"Erik, have you ever seen _Monty Python and the Holy Grail?" _

Erik cracked open one sunken blue eye and found Brooke leaning into his coffin with a disgustingly cheerful grin on her face.

"Are you ill?" Erik croaked. He reached out and laid a chilly palm against Brooke's forehead.

"Not at all. Why?" she replied.

"Because it has to be an absurdly _unholy_ hour of the night in order for _you _to be awake before _me."_

"So?"

"So why the bloody hell are you acting so out of character?"

"Do I need a reason? Just answer my first question."

Erik gritted his teeth. "No. I do not know this Monty Python of whom you speak."

With that he shoved her away, listening with malicious satisfaction to the heavy thud of a young woman hitting the bedroom floor. His eyes hadn't been closed two seconds before Brooke was back. A cycle of pushing and rebounding continued for a good fifteen minutes. At last Erik gave in, launched himself out of his coffin, grabbed his black robe, and followed Brooke into the Lothlorien tent where she had set up the computer. Anna was still curled up beneath a mountain of down blankets. Brooke kicked her.

"Get up," the brunette commanded.

"Why are you doing this to meeeeeeeee?" the blankets whined.

"You are not alone in your suffering," Erik remarked dryly as he settled down on a cushion. At the sound of that beloved voice, Anna's bedraggled head popped out from the blankets.

"So you're here, too? How did she manage that?"

"Persistence."

"Ah. Well, misery loves company." The recalcitrant redhead slithered out from her little den, dragging a flannel blanket with her, and nestled next to Erik. The action itself was nothing new. Anna had a habit of snuggling Erik, but this time it meant something different to him. His heart quivered oddly and he began to worry that she would find his bony shoulder uncomfortable.

In the meantime Brooke started the DVD…

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**One Monty Python movie later…**

"What did you think?" Brooke chirped.

"I think I've lost half of my brain cells," Erik muttered groggily.

"You just don't appreciate the genius of that humor."

"If that was genius then Carlotta is the best singer on earth."

Anna blinked sleepily and said, "I once owned that crazy rabbit."

"Really?"

"Yesh. She was a sweet little thing until she hit puberty."

"What happened?"

"She growled and attacked our legs. She was rather violent when in the throes of passion," Anna explained through a yawn.

"Pleasant thought."

"New movie!" Brooke cried.

Erik groaned, "I'd like to keep the other half of those cells, please."

"Hush!"

With all due respect to _Napoleon Dynamite, _it isn't the most stimulating movie. Thus, by the end of the opening credits Anna and Erik were sound asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**In the upper floors of the Opera House…**

Raoul de Chagny crept carefully down the opulent halls of the Opera House. He was as tense as a kid in a haunted house, expecting to see Christine, or worse, the managers come flying around a corner at any moment. He steered clear of Box Five. His memories of that place were harrowing, to say the least. The faints sounds of the rehearsals floated up from the auditorium. All at once a voice came through a wall.

"Hello, Raoul."

The Vicomte shrieked and jumped five feet into the air.

"Calm down!" the voice hissed.

Raoul choked on the next scream, leaning against the talking wall to settle his racing heart.

"Go to the roof," said the voice.

Raoul nodded and shakily made his way to the roof. Brooke was waiting for him; or rather the Spirit was waiting, haphazardly sprawled in the bronze arms of Apollo.

"You scare easily," she observed.

"It was hardly fair of you to sneak up on me like that," Raoul retorted.

Brooke nimbly leapt down from her perch. Raoul eyed her appearance with incredulity. She was in her traditional haunting garb: black shirt, trousers, and cloak, black Converse sneakers, and her white silk mask.

"Please take off the mask," Raoul pleaded. Brooke complied and the young nobleman was noticeably relieved to see her face.

"Shall we sit down?" Brooke asked. She gestured to an outcropping conveniently shadowed and out of sight from the door.

"Where are your cohorts?" Raoul asked.

"Sawing logs in the lair."

"What?"

"Never mind. They won't wake up for a while and that's what matters. Do you want to hear this story?"

Raoul nodded, "Yes…I've a feeling that I'm going to be in over my head, but I want to know."

Brooke shook her head, "You're going to find this really hard to believe."

"At this point, I'm ready to believe in Saint Nicholas again."

"All right…here goes nothing. You've probably figured out that Anna and I are not related to Erik in anyway."

"Definitely sensed that."

"Well, Anna and I aren't sisters to each other either. We're cousins on our fathers' side."

"What!"

Brooke wrung her hands and squirmed. "Okay, I'm just gonna spew it all out and explain later. Anna and I were transported to Erik's lair by a freak thunderstorm from Montana in America. We're time travelers from the year 2005."

Raoul blinked. _"Merde."_

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't even know what to say…" The Vicomte leapt to his feet and began to pace in a circle. "I can't say that your story is entirely implausible."

Brooke's eyes locked on his face. "You actually believe me?"

"Well, either you're insane or you're telling the truth. You can't be lying because you could surely come up with a better a lie."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Brooke muttered.

"The insanity option is a definite possibility. You _have _been under the influence of Erik for several months."

Brooke lifted her chin and declared with defiance, "In the brilliant words of my cousin: I was perfectly demented _prior _to meeting the Opera Ghost."

Raoul paused in his pacing and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Indeed. Well, if you are _not _insane then I'm sure you would have proof of your assertions."

"Yes, but everything is down in the lair. Oh, wait…remember that magic bag I had with me the night of the fireworks?"

Raoul stared at her in surprise, "That was you? Never mind, of course it was, but now that you mention it I do remember that bag. It was empty and then you pulled a blanket and clean shirt from it."

"Exactly!" Brooke squealed.

Raoul nodded. "Maybe you're not insane after all."

The brunette quirked an eyebrow at him, "Never count that out of the options."

XXXXXXXXXXX

**In the batcave…**

Anna awoke to find herself staring into a pair of beautiful blue eyes…unfortunately they did not belong to Erik. Ayesha, in typical cat fashion, was sitting on the girl's chest and staring intently into her face. Anna squeaked in shock and sat bolt upright. The indignant feline shot away to her own bed, twitching her chocolate colored tail in irritation.

Erik, who was slumped against the wall, shook himself awake. He blinked once or twice before glaring at Anna.

"What did you do?" he growled, his lovely voice marred by the post-sleepiness.

"Why do you assume that _I _did anything?" Anna shrieked defensively.

"Experience."

"Well, it was Ayesha's fault this time."

Erik only grunted in reply and gracefully staggered to his feet. He stretched his long, lean frame, with Anna watching appreciatively from the sidelines.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Anna checked the computer. "Two."

"In the afternoon?"

"According to the computer. It's not like you can tell from down here."

Erik jumped up and stomped across the room. "I can't believe I slept the day away like a sloth."

"Hey, I resent that comparison."

"No…you represent it is all."

"Apparently even a great insomniac like yourself is susceptible to the narcotic powers of Napoleon Dynamite."

"Are you always this difficult in the morning?" Erik growled as his dug through his bureau drawers.

"No. Only in the afternoon."

Erik grumbled some expletives under his breath and turned to face the frumpy girl, his hands full of clothes.

"If you don't mind, mon merle, I'd like to have some privacy."

Anna shrugged. "Sure…I'm hungry." She shuffled out of the room and made a beeline for the kitchen. Feeling lazy, she walked around snacking on anything edible that she happened across. She knew it would be awhile before she would gain entrance back into the master bedroom. Erik was very methodical in his daily rituals. It was a little while before Anna noticed something was amiss….

"Erik!" The door banged open and the girl came flying into the bedroom.

The Phantom nearly squeaked in indignation as he jerked his robe over his shirtless chest.

"Are you incapable of knocking?" he snarled.

"Brooke's missing!"

Erik dropped the robe. "What do you mean by missing?"

"I mean she's not here…in the house. I even checked the torture chamber."

As the words left her mouth, Anna realized exactly where Brooke was and, more importantly, _whom _she was with. The redhead groaned, wishing she had given the situation more careful thought before bursting in on Erik, although seeing him without a shirt was always a plus. Meanwhile, Erik had quickly finished dressing and was readying himself to go haunting.

"Are you going to look for her?" Anna whispered.

"Of course. I don't understand why she would skulk away like that…" Erik paused a moment then fixed Anna with a fierce glare. "You know where she is, don't you?"

Anna couldn't bring her self to look him in the eyes, preferring instead to stare at her bare feet. "Um…well…I'm not totally sure about it…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**The Opera Roof…**

Brooke had finally convinced Raoul of her honesty and the two were cozily ensconced in on the bench when the door banged open and out flew the Phantom of the Opera, dragging the Raven behind him.

Erik's livid blue eyes locked on Brooke's face. He started towards the frightened couple. Raoul was on his feet, ready to fight the Phantom if need be, but Erik never looked at him. When Erik was within a few feet of the Spirit he stopped. The tension in the air was so thick they could almost taste it. At last Erik jerked Anna forward and threw her at Raoul's feet. For the first time he looked his enemy in the eye.

"Take them both and don't ever come back," hissed the Angel of Music.

He spun on his heel and marched back to the door. Anna stumbled to her feet, tangled in her cloak and the straps of the Poppins Bag. She attempted to chase after Erik, but it was no use. She fell flat on her face and he never stopped, not even when she called his name.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**In the batcave…**

Erik burst through the front door, storming in like a wrathful deity. With the black cloak billowing behind him and his blue eyes burning with rage, he was enough to frighten even the most enamored of phangirls. Growling like a wounded lion, the Phantom went to the Lothlorien tent and began to rip the gossamer curtains, rending them from their rods and tearing the fabric to shreds. It was quite a sight, especially when he started stabbing the down pillows. Just as he started in on the mattresses, a curt feminine voice spoke.

"Ahem."

Erik whirled around. Through a rain of feathers, he saw a petite, young woman, with long brown hair and dressed in a silver cloak, standing beside the coffin.

"Who are you?" he demanded, slipping his hand into his own cloak to grab the Punjab lasso.

The strange woman smiled and replied, "I am the Authoress."

Erik's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He fought and spit his way past the feathers to get a better look at this latest intruder. The hood of her cloak obscured all of her face save her mouth, which was currently twisted into a very snarky smirk.

"Remove your hood, mademoiselle!" he commanded.

The snarky smirk quirked into a mocking grin as she said, "I don't think you understand, Erik. I am _the _Authoress. _Your _Authoress."

Erik blinked at her. Suddenly, he felt very tired and heavy-hearted. He released a pitiful groan and stumbled back against the wall.

"Look," he explained to the Authoress, "I don't have the energy to deal with this. I've just had my heart smashed to pieces…_again…_So if you would be so kind as to show yourself out, I would sincerely appreciate it."

"I know what happened today, Erik. That's why I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"My name is Misty. I'm the one—"

All at once, a light bulb went off over Erik's masked head. He jabbed a long, elegant finger at Misty and gasped, "You're the one who sends all those infernal flying notes!"

"Congrats on that astute observation, my emaciated friend."

"Then _you're _responsible for everything that's happened to me!"

"Well, not everything. Leroux is responsible for most of it. I've been responsible since Anna and Brooke showed up."

At the mention of the cousins, Erik lost it again. He lunged at Misty, intent on punjabbing her, but it was to no avail. For some reason, Misty remained invincible to all attempts at assault. After five futile minutes, Erik gave up and resorted to sobbing in front of the organ.

"Get a grip, will you?" snapped Misty.

Erik turned on her.

"How do you expect ME to get a GRIP!" he screamed. "They broke the circle of trust! I should have known better. I _did _know better, but I wanted it so badly that I let them in. I let _her _in!"

Erik railed on in this manner until he hadn't breath left for tiniest curse. Misty stood unmoved.

"Are you finished angsting now? Good. Now, allow me to point something out to you: this is a humor phic."

"So?"

"So that means all the angst is marring the fun. If you want to angst, tough luck, you should have enrolled for a different phic."

"What do you expect me to do?" Erik sulked, realizing that there was no way around this silver-cloaked obstacle.

"I expect you to go track down those girls…right now."

And with that, Misty vanished.


	59. La GardeRobe Magique

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO

**A/N: **Someone pointed out in their review that I made repeated comments about Christine being flat-chested and that all of these remarks were of a derogatory nature. This is true. I sincerely apologize if that has offended anyone. I did not mean to be insensitive to anyone, but I should have thought it out more carefully. Again, I am very sorry if this has offended anyone. And thank you to the reviewer who brought up the subject.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

LA GARDE-ROBE MAGIQUE

Naturally, Erik did not go after the girls right away. He had an extreme aversion to being bossed around…especially by short, irksome females. Yet in the end, it was the loneliness that drove the Phantom to comply with the Authoress' demands. Thus, one day, Erik left the hellish prison that was once his sanctuary and began to comb the streets of Paris for his companions…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**The Cheney townhouse…**

"It's been an entire week," Anna moaned.

She sat at a window that over-looked the quiet street below. Across the road was a small private park where nannies could take their spoiled charges for afternoon walks and where lovers could converse uninterrupted.

Elsewhere in the room, Brooke sat before a vanity table, carefully pinning up her hair. The exile from the Opera House had not been as bad for her as it had been for Anna. Of course, Brooke lamented the separation. She despised bitterness and division, and it broke her heart to see Anna so forlorn.

Still…she was enjoying her time with Raoul. Immediately after Erik had deposited Anna and the Bag at Raoul's feet, Raoul took the girls to Cecily's house. The raven-haired heiress welcomed her friends with open arms and gave Raoul permission to call at the house any time he wished.

Anna and Brooke were offered separate bedrooms, but they refused. So, Cecily set them up with one of the family rooms, which included a bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room. Dominic and Jacques had been banned from that part of the house. Pip and Que saw to it that the rambunctious brothers were kept away.

The girls were offered every convenience and luxury that Cecily could possibly provide. Cecily felt personally responsible for spoiling Anna and Brooke's trust with Erik and she took the event to heart. The only outcome of the ordeal that provided anyone with any happiness was the blossoming romance between Brooke and Raoul.

"Raoul will be here in an hour, Anna. You should come with us," Brooke offered. She watched her cousin's reflection in the mirror. Anna didn't move.

"I'll be in the way."

"No, you won't. Raoul likes you. He says you amuse him."

"Well, I'm glad my misery is good for something."

Brooke turned around. "That's not what he meant."

"I know."

"Cecily's going. Why don't you keep her company?"

Anna heaved an irritated sigh and glared at Brooke.

"I'm not going to win this time, am I?"

"Nope."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik watched from the shade of the park trees as Raoul handed all three girls into his carriage. It looked like they were going shopping. Running to the edge of the sidewalk, Erik hailed a cab and ordered the driver to follow the De Chagny carriage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The De Chagny's driver dropped off his master and his master's friends on a busy street lined with stores selling fashion goods. Raoul offered Brooke his arm and they walked ahead of their companions. Anna's slump-shouldered gloominess forced Cecily to feel the effects of her own folly all the more keenly. It was not a pleasant way to spend the afternoon.

Presently, a peculiar imported fabrics shop caught Brooke's eye. The place was the very definition of hole-in-the-wall, no windows or even bright paint on the brick walls, simply a moldy-looking door and a weather-worn sign which read La Garde-Robe Magique. It was this that grabbed Brooke's attention. _The Magic Wardrobe. _The brunette smiled. That ought to cheer Anna up some.

"How about this place?" Brooke chirped.

Anna glanced up. Sure enough, the sign triggered her interests and she smiled for the first time in a week. Raoul opened the door and ushered the ladies inside.

The little group immediately found themselves immersed in a world of exotic fabrics. The building was narrow, but long, lit only by orange gas lamps. The faint scent of incense and jasmine tea hung in the air. A diminutive Indian woman greeted them and bade them to make themselves at home in her shop.

Anna leaned over to her cousin and whispered, "I feel like we're in Diagon Alley."

"Indeed!" Brooke laughed.

La Garde-Robe Magique was a dream come true. Every where the eye turned it met with a menageries of cloths from around the globe: Egyptian cotton, Chinese silk and satin, Ottoman muslin, American calico, Scottish tartans, English sheep's wool, Peruvian alpaca wool, Canadian furs, and more. There were endless reams of ribbons, hand-woven laces, beads, and tassels and bucket loads of feathers from every bird, be it raven or quetzal.

Anna so lost herself in the store that she didn't detect the approaching danger until it was too late.

"Hello, my lovely lady!"

The red-head instantly recoiled from the dreaded voice of Algernon Moncrieff.

"How did you find me?" she hissed.

"I'm a detective, darling. It's what I do!" Algy purred as he made a grab for her hand.

Swiftly, Anna dodged him and fled to the far side of a bucket of peacock feathers. She glared at him through the opulent plumage.

"This is what _STALKERS _do, you creep!"

Algy found the game amusing. He peered back at her. "Dom Cheney said you've been gloomier than a basset hound on bath day, ever since your brother kicked you out. I thought you might need some cheering up." He gave her a rakish wink.

Anna choked on her own puke. "Listen, Sherlock, you are the absolute last life form on Earth that could cheer me up!"

The detective turned a light shade of red. "I resent being mistaken for that bulbous-nosed snob," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Well, you sure ain't cute enough to be _Basil _of Baker Street!"

"Who?"

Anna ignored him. "Now kindly disappear!"

With that, Anna ducked out of sight behind a ream of fuchsia ribbons and did her best to vanish amongst the store goods. Her expert ability to avoid discovery amazed Algy, but he was, in fact, a good detective, so it wasn't long before Anna found herself cornered once more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ensconced in a shadowy doorway across the street, Erik watched the little group enter a hole-in-the-wall fabric shop. It looked like the sort of place that would catch Brooke and Anna's eyes. It was bizarre…_like them, _Erik thought with a fond smile. The Phantom finally screwed up enough courage to dart across the street and hide in the shadows of an alley near the entrance of the shop.

It gave him an adventurous thrill to be skulking about in broad daylight. The brave felling stayed with almost to the door of La Garde-Robe Magique, but it abandoned Erik the moment he saw a devilish looking Englishman heading straight for him! Panicking, the Opera Ghost whipped back into the alley. He heard the bell above the door jingle as the Englishman entered the shop.

A good five minutes passed before Erik had the guts to approach the again. This time he succeeded. As the door closed behind him, Erik realized that he had no idea what he would do once inside. Luckily, the shop itself offered an answer. The overstuffed shelves, protruding display cases, unruly reams of fabric, and dim light all provided ample cover. He was able to flit about the shop completely undetected by anyone inside.

Erik spied Brooke flirting with Raoul near a display of orange silk while Cecily examined a printed cloth from India. Anna was nowhere to be seen. The Phantom plunged further into the depths of the shop until he heard faint voices floating from the vicinity of a bucket of peacock feathers. He rounded a corner and there he saw Anna flirting with the devilish Englishman!

Erik's blood boiled. How dared she? Here he had made such a tremendous effort to find her, risking all exposure, just to tell her…Erik pushed the words out of his head. He was about to leave, heart-broken and disgusted, when a voice called his name.

Shrieked his name was more like it.

"_ERIK!" _

Anna felt as though her heart would explode. Without a second thought, she shoved Algy aside and threw herself at Erik. She couldn't reach him fast enough. Erik caught her round the waist and held her tight. Beneath the black mask, his gaunt cheeks burned with shame while his eyes gathered tears. How could he have misjudged her so? He felt it to be the gravest sin he had ever committed; so grave, that the Phantom spoke to God for the first time in decades to silently ask forgiveness.

"Erik, I'm so sorry!"

"No, no, Anna, it was my fault. I should never have treated you so callously."

Erik held her tighter and buried his masked face in her hair. "I missed you so much."

Meanwhile Algy looked on in shock. His brain was having difficulty in processing what had just happened. Here he was—a dashing, handsome, roguish detective—dashingly romancing a beautiful young woman when she suddenly launches herself at a masked, emaciated shadow. It just didn't compute. For the first time in his wicked career as a ladies' man, Algernon Moncrieff was jealous.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I was talking with this lady," Algy asserted. He boldly stepped forward and tried to pry Anna away from Erik. Folks, this is what we call stupid. It was akin to depriving a lioness of her meal.

Anna nearly tore Algy's head off.

"_GET AWAY FROM ME!" _

Her red hair, aflame in the orange light, stood on end and her eyes went wild with fury. Even Erik stepped back in fear. By this time, Brooke and the others had made their way to the back of the store. They started back when they saw Erik standing there. Brooke gave a cry of delight and leapt forward to claim her hug from the Phantom. Cecily sighed with relief.

"It is so good to see you, M. Leroux," she said. Her grey eyes conveyed all the sincerity of her salutation. Erik gave her a curt nod. In all fairness, it was all he could manage at such an emotional moment.

"This is M. Leroux? Their brother?" Algy exclaimed.

"Sort of," Raoul said.

"What do you mean?"

"He's more like a guardian. They're not actually related."

Algy's shoulders drooped.

Once the emotion had cleared, the girls went back to shopping. A plan had erupted for a masquerade in celebration of Halloween. The ladies combed La Garde-Robe Magique for costume ideas. Algy was left to accompany Cecily, whilst the cousins wandered off with their respective beaux.

Erik pulled out a ream of royal blue satin almost the exact shade of an iris.

"Here, mon merle, this is perfect for you," he said as he held the fabric up to Anna's cheek. She blushed. Erik's heart fluttered. There was so much to say, but he knew it was not yet time for that. For now, he was content to treasure her company and all the coy looks she cast his way.


	60. One Down, One To Go

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO…except on DVD.

**A/N: **I posted this yesterday, but as LaRoseDeSoleil pointed out, there was a mistake in Raoul's line during the poetry conversation, so I made some corrections. Also, in case you didn't know, the poetry conversation comes to us compliments of the ultimate Authoress: Miss Jane Austen. (bows to the ultimate Authoress). While I'm at it, I thought I might include some review replies.

**Marianne Brandon: **Hmm, I never would have guessed that you have a thing for the dear Colonel. I own both the book and the movie. The movie actually introduced me to the wonderful world of Jane Austen six years ago and made me an Alan Rickman fan.

**PhantomLover05: **His first name is indeed Fitzwilliam. I believe there may be two references to it in the book, definitely at the end of his letter to Lizzy in Chapter XXXV (35, I believe…I hate Roman numerals). If you are confused because of Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy's cousin, remember that the Colonel's _last _name is Fitzwilliam, while the same name is Darcy's _first. _Obviously, the name runs in their family.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **The wardrobe door flew open and Misty came marching in, singing at the top of her lungs.

"_ONE DAY MOOOOOOORE!" _

It was not a pretty sound. The Gerry protested from his place on the couch.

"Would you shut up?"

"_WHO AM I? 2 – 4 – 6 – 0—" _

The rest was cut off by a thrown throw pillow.

"Please spare me the agony!" the Gerry growled.

Misty chucked the pillow back at him. She waltzed to her desk and turned on her computer.

"I can't help it," she chirped. "I just saw _Les Misérables, _and I want everyone to know about it."

"That's very nice…show off."

"It was incredible! I can't help it. I thought I would never get the chance to see it."

The Gerry scratched his belly and turned back to the television. "Well, you've had your fun, now get back to your phic."

Misty arched an eyebrow in the direction of her muse. "You're getting to be a regular couch potato, my dear. If you keep this up I shall be forced to seek a replacement."

"You can't replace me!" the Gerry howled, angered enough to actually jump up off the couch and whirl to face her. "_You_ haven't been exercising me!"

"I'm sure the minions would be happy to help you lose a few pounds."

The Gerry blanched, but being a Phantom, his anger swiftly returned. "You. Can't. Replace. _ME!" _

Misty gave him another arch look. "Don't flatter yourself. I have plenty of obsessions that rank much higher than you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ONE DOWN, ONE TO GO

Cecily was so overjoyed with Erik and the girls' reconciliation that she invited everyone to her home for dinner. Unfortunately, Algy figured that the invitation was extended to him as well. Anna would have had no scruples in telling the pushy detective to talk a long walk off a short plank. However, Cecily's inbred sense of decorum would not allow her to be rude and, so, Algy was included in the party.

There they were, seated around the Cheney dinner table. Cecily sat at the head flanked by Algy and Brooke. Raoul was happily seated to Brooke's left, while poor Anna was stuck between Algy and Erik. It was a rather strange party. Dom and Jacques sat at the far end of the table. They hadn't waited even two seconds after their sister finished saying grace before they tucked in like starving wolves. Meanwhile, Erik didn't utter one syllable while Anna did her best to deflect Algy's attentions. Cecily feared that the evening was in danger of a very bad ending, when Raoul and Brooke saved the day…or night. Their lively conversation entertained and drew the others away from private thoughts.

Brooke regaled them with tales of romances from her past life. Raoul, having a playful, teasing nature, did not mind the stories. Anna joined them.

"Do you remember that one boy who wrote poems about you?" the red-head said.

"Poems?" Raoul declared, "He must have been in head-over-heels."

"Perhaps, but the poems ended his affection," Brooke said. "I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love."

Raoul looked surprised. "I have been used to consider poetry as the _food _of love."

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Anna added, "Besides, he was a horrid writer."

"No sense of rhythm."

"Or diction."

"It had a very limp tone, too."

Beneath his mask, Erik smirked as the cousins' banter befuddled everyone else at the table. Algy blinked at Brooke for a moment then turned back to Anna. He leaned in and draped an arm across the back of her chair. Erik shot the detective an icy glare. Algy didn't flinch.

"Then what do you recommend to encourage affection?" Algy asked.

Anna turned to Erik and said, "Singing."

Erik's sunken blue eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest.

The rest of the dinner passed in easy conversation between the cousins, Raoul, and Cecily. Though Erik said nothing he watched them all most attentively. He could hardly believe that he was actually sitting at a family dining table, with his once archrival seated across the table. He eyed Raoul for a time, watching as the young nobleman openly flirted with Brooke.

_Well, I suppose I have no more worries coming from that quarter, _he thought.

Erik bent his gaze toward Algy. The Englishman was roguishly handsome, enough to make any woman salivate with lust. Erik fingered the Punjab lasso in his coat pocket.

"If you Punjab anyone at this table, I shall never be able to show my face in public again," Anna whispered.

Erik started at her nearness. She gave him a wicked grin and turned back to her food.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cecily led her guests into a spacious parlor where a servant was laying out coffee and cakes. The room was magnificent, featuring a cavernous fireplace and a beautiful piano. To the north there was a great set of French doors, which open onto a garden.

Raoul spied the doors and, grabbing Brooke's hand, led her toward them. He called to others over his shoulder,

"We're going out for some fresh air."

No one protested and Erik only sent the Vicomte one look of warning before giving a nod of consent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The crisp night air spoke of the approaching winter. The light from the house filtered through the golden and burgundy leaves of the trees, glowing as though they were infused with fairy dust. Raoul offered Brooke an arm and led her down a small flight of stone steps, into a maze of rose bushes and apple trees. After several minutes' contented silence, Brooke spoke.

"Thank you for everything you've done for Anna and myself."

"Please think nothing of it. I felt responsible for your losing Erik's trust."

Brooke shook her head. They resumed their walking as she continued the conversation.

"We probably should have been more open with him. He's hard to gage sometimes, but I think he's developed a serious soft spot for us."

"Anna in particular, I should say."

Brooke glanced up eagerly at her companion. "Do you really think so?"

"I think it's a safe bet that he's in love with her. Just like—"

Raoul stopped walking. The darkness hid his blushing face from Brooke's eyes, but his agitated fidgeting gave him away. He stared at the stars over her head, composing his thoughts. At last he reached down and took her hands in his. Immediately, he felt the pulse in her palm increase.

"Brooke, I wish I were a poet so…wait, you don't like poets. Never mind that, then. I guess the only way to say this is the most straight forward. I love you."

Brooke gulped, her green eyes as big as saucers.

"You caught my fancy from the first moment I saw you in the stables at Perros. I wanted to know you better, but I thought I owed my loyalty to Christine. She was my friend in childhood…but…well, as Philipe said: I've grown up and she hasn't. No one has ever filled my heart the way you do."

Brooke blushed and averted her eyes. She stared at his fingers curled around hers. Raoul panicked.

"I'm not frightening you…am I?" he stammered. Silently, he prayed that she would say no.

"No, it's just...overwhelming…in a good way." Brooke stole a shy glance at his face. He was beaming with relief.

The Vicomte rushed on, afraid the words would escape him if he did not utter them soon enough. "When you came into my life, my world turned upside down. I've been chased by fireworks, shot by balls of paint, and discovered things about the future of the world."

The brunette groaned. "I'm so sorry about all that."

"I love it!" he cried.

Brooke looked up in surprise.

"My life was dull before I met you!" He took her face between his hands. "You bring me joy such as I have never known. Every lady I have ever met has demanded to be pleased and flattered, but until I met you, I never knew a woman who truly _deserved_ to be pleased and _praised._"

Suddenly, both realized how close they were standing. Their faces were but a few inches apart. All at once, Brooke's breathing became shallow and the mirth in Raoul's eyes gave way to something more fiery. Slowly, he leaned closer. Brooke made no objections. He took that as encouragement and kissed her.

When he withdrew, both of them were trembling all over. Raoul flushed and backed away.

"Forgive me. I never should have taken that liberty."

"I didn't exactly put up a fight."

Raoul's eyes flew to Brooke's face. He stared at her intensely, as though trying to read fine print.

"What do you mean?"

Brooke blushed and stammered, "I've loved you for the longest time. Ever since I first saw you."

"When was that?" Raoul cried eagerly.

"At Christine's debut performance in _Faust."_

"I didn't see you there."

Brooke laughed. "Anna and I were in the room that houses the counter weights of the chandelier. I saw you in your box seat."

"I wish I had known of it."

"Would you be thrilled with the idea that one of the theatre's haunts had developed a crush on you?"

It was Raoul's turn to laugh. He chuckled and kissed Brooke's knuckles.

"So…what happens now?" she asked.

"Now…" Raoul gulped, "Now you marry me…if you wish to."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Later…**

The clocks chimed two in the morning before everyone decided it was time to be in bed. At first Erik insisted on returning home with the cousins, but they persuaded him to accept Cecily's offer to stay the night. Algy looked disappointed at this, but made no objections as Raoul steered him out the door. Brooke stood at the door, blushing and waving to the Vicomte until his carriage disappeared around a bend in the street. She sighed and shut the door. Anna glared at her cousin. The brunette had a rather stupid smile pasted on her face. Something was up and Anna was going to find out.

Unfortunately, Erik stood in her way.

"_Why_ did you insist upon staying here?" he hissed. If he had been a dog, every hair on his back would have been bristling. Anna didn't budge.

"Because if we left, it would give Algernon a chance to follow us!"

"Good. Then I could have disposed of him all the more conveniently."

"Erik, please! It's better this way. He's a detective, for Pete's sake!"

Cecily snorted. "Apparently, he not enough of a detective to detect all those warning signals you threw at him all night."

"_Every _man is deficient in the field of _correctly _interpreting female signals," Anna spat, giving Erik a reproachful glance.

"What? I understood your signals. You wanted him to leave you alone."

Anna groaned and slapped a palm to her forehead. _Will he never understand the signals I send to HIMSELF? _

"Never mind, Erik. You're distracting me from my mission."

"What mission?"

"To find out why Brooke and Raoul came floating back into the house with goofy grins on their faces." Anna flew to her cousin's side. "Out with it."

Brooke glanced about cagily. "Out with what?"

Cecily closed in from the left. "Whatever happened between you and the Vicomte out in the garden?"

Erik stepped up from the right. "You _were _out there for awhile."

Brooke turned scarlet and chewed on her fingernails. "Um…well…we're…engaged."

Anna and Cecily shrieked with joy. Erik blinked. He knew this was definitely going to change things.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Misty finished up and posted.

"Finished."

"Good," the Gerry snapped.

The tranquility of the den was interrupted by a tremendous noise coming from the hall. It sounded for all the world like a pack of minions giggling over a secret. Coincidentally, that's exactly what it turned out to be. The socks barred most of them from the door. Captain Marianne passed through unharmed.

"Yes, Captain?" asked the Authoress.

"Phantress is here and she has a present for you."

Misty squealed in delight as her friend swept past the snarling sock army and into the den.

"Darling!" they each exclaimed.

"I have something for you. Let him in, ladies."

The Gerry frowned. "Him?"

The sea of minions parted to reveal none other Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, looking as nettled as he could.

"Misty, may I introduce you to your new muse," Phantress declared.

Misty didn't answer, for she had fainted away.

**Real A/N: **Never fear for The Gerry. He'll be fine. Anywho. I hope you all enjoyed the fluff. The zaniness should return in the next installment.


	61. Erik Contemplates and Critiques NSYNC

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO…I really don't know why I put this disclaimer here…it's only fan fiction, for Pete's sake.

**Dreamless Wind: **Yes, the POTO characters are definitely OOC…they're more like charicatures, really. But I'm glad you like this in spite of it.

**eepybird: **DVD in French rocks.

**A/N: **Shout out to _Superman Returns. _I was a stout Batman kinda girl…but Brandon Routh won me over.

And, yes, I have seen _Pirates…_went to the midnight show dressed like a pirate lass and everything…very last scene was the best part. I heart Geoffrey.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ERIK CONTEMPLATES AND CRITIQUES NSYNC

_A Blipic_

Actually…that title is a bit misleading. There is nothing to contemplate about NSYNC. They weren't that complex. In reality, Erik was contemplating something far more serious and important as he and the cousins enjoyed a quiet morning by a fire in their sitting room.

They had managed to slip away from the Cheney house sometime during their overnight stay and sneaked back into the fifth cellar of the opera house. Erik was as relieved as Anna to be rid of that obnoxious detective, but he didn't allow himself the luxury of peace. Naught but a thin web of deception held the privacy of their existence together…and it wouldn't last much longer. A distinct snapping noise broke through Erik's thoughts. He glanced up to see Brooke tearing her fingernails to shreds with her teeth.

"For pity's sake, Brooke, would you please break that unseemly habit?" Erik growled.

Brooke whipped her hands out of her mouth and sat on them.

"Some Vicomtess you'll be."

Anna looked up from her computer. "OMG, Brooke, it just dawned on me that you're going to being freakin' French nobility."

"Now you know why I've been biting my nails!" Brooke shrilled and stubbornly stuck a finger in her mouth.

"It's a good thing we're not living during the reign of Madame Guillotine," Erik snarked.

"That's not helping, Erik!"

"Why ever not? I think it's reassuring, unless you _want _to be guillotined."

"Raoul's stick-up-their-butts friends _are_ going to guillotine me…figuratively speaking. I literally came from nowhere as far as they're concerned."

"I can give you a dowry if it would help."

"So can the Poppins Bag. Money isn't the issue. It's my status…I'm not an heiress or an opera singer or even the scullery maid!"

Erik gave an elegant shrug. "Status can be easily bought."

Anna chipped in. "You could always just tell the truth."

"After which I'll go down in societal history as the biggest lunatic and greatest scandal that ever graced the gossip columns!" Brooke snapped.

"Scandal is attention."

"I DON'T WANT ATTENTION!"

Brooke's green eyes glittered manically. Her hair nearly stood on end. Erik and Anna shrank away. The brunette slumped back into her chair. All was silent for a moment before she spoke again.

"I wish you could go with me, Anna."

"Raoul can't have two wives…this isn't that sort of place."

"You know what I mean! I'd feel so much braver if you were around."

Anna shrugged, but didn't answer. Erik wondered if her silence meant that she didn't want to leave the opera house. He needed to think and he did that best while standing beside the organ.

"Excuse me, ladies," he said, rising from his chair and hurrying into his bedroom. The room looked much larger now that the Lothlorien tent was gone. The cousins had been greatly saddened when they saw the destruction Erik's wrath had wrought. He made it up to them by giving them the Louis-Phillipe room. He had even redecorated it in the Lothlorien style.

Now his room seemed empty and lonely. Erik strode to the organ and contemplated. He didn't notice the Poppins Bag lying nearby.

_What's up?_

"What? Oh…it's you."

_Hello to you, too. Looks like something's bothering you._

"So what if it is?"

_Well, I thought you could use a little one-on-one time. _

"With a bag? No thank you."

_Hey, I won't spill a word of it to the girls, if that's what you're worried about. See? My lips are sealed.  
_

"You don't have…" Erik glanced over to see that Poppins Bag had zipped itself closed. The Angel of Music slapped a palm to his forehead.

_So how about that one-on-one?_

"Is there any way to get rid of your annoying presence?"

_Nope._

Erik growled and ground his teeth. "Fine."

_I'm all ears._

"Brooke's up-coming marriage to the Vicomte de Chagney has me worried."

_Why? He'll be out of the way of you and Christine._

"You of all people…excuse me, of all _objects, _should know that I'm not in love with Christine anymore. I haven't been for some time now."

_Uh-huh._

"The more we get involved with people from _up there, _the less unnoticeable my position as Phantom of the Opera becomes."

_But you never really wanted to stay the Phantom forever._

"I never really wanted to be the Phantom in the first place. It was an easy solution to my problems. Now, the world has invaded my space once again…I can't shut it out this time."

_Why not?_

"Because…I…" Erik took a deep breath. "Because it would mean shutting Anna out, too. I can't ask her to live the rest of her life in darkness. She deserves a better existence than that, but I cannot bear the thought of never seeing her again."

_So what's the hold up?_

"Several things. Once Brooke is married Anna must go to live her or with Cecily Cheney. It wouldn't be decent for Anna and I to continue living together…besides, it would be more than my self-control could withstand."

_Wow. _

Erik clenched his fists. "I can't help it. I _am _still a human man, however, shadowy I may be, and Anna's external appeal hasn't gone unnoticed."

_Apparently. Well, so Anna has to leave. Is that the problem?_

"Yes," Erik moaned. His thin shoulders slumped.

_Then why don't you leave, too?_

"How can I? I'm the Phantom of the Opera. I'll be wanted for all manner of crimes once my identity is uncovered and with that smug-faced detective sniffing around, it won't be long until everyone finds out."

_But you have friends now. They all know who you are and they haven't done anything about it. If you don't try, then you'll never know if you could succeed._

"I have tried to exist in the world above. It never worked."

_But you didn't have Anna with you before either._

Erik stood in silence. He knew it was true. He had fully agreed with Brooke. With Anna around, he'd feel so much braver. Suddenly, the door flew open and Anna herself breezed in. Erik's heart leapt as she walked toward him, computer in hand.

"Erik, you have to listen to this. I just bought it off of iTunes."

Erik shied away. "What is it?"

Brooke popped up behind her cousin. "The Very Best of NSYNC."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"It's either NSYNC or watching 'Charlie the Unicorn.' It's your choice," Brooke said.

"But you'll make me do both anyway."

"True."

"Then I really don't have a choice at all."

All the while, the cousins closed in on Erik, backing him against the organ. Anna was so close Erik could actually catch a faint whiff of her perfume with what working olfactory sensors he had. She smelled like peonies. He nearly fainted when her body brushed his.

"We're still giving you a choice of which you listen to first," Anna said.

Erik shook himself. "Fine. Fine! I'll listen to this NSYNC, if you don't mind explaining what it is first."

"It's a boy bad."

Erik's lips twisted in disgust. "What does _that _mean?"

"Just listen."

Anna turned on the music. "It's Gonna Be Me" was the first song up. The track hadn't played for more than thirty seconds when Erik howled and clapped his hands over his ears.

"What the bloody hell _is _this!" he shrieked.

"Teeny bopper pop," Anna said with a giggle. She had always been amused by NSYNC.

"It's rubbish! No…that isn't a harsh enough word…it's, it's…" Erik clutched his head in agony, "It's so inane that it's robbing me of my capacity for word choice!"

"Aw, it's all in good fun," Anna said.

"On the same level of fun as watching Mary-Kate and Ashley videos," Brooke commented.

Anna's face went deadly serious. "No, anything to with the Olsen twins does about as much for your brain as a good dose of morphine."

"Bye, Bye. Bye" was the next song up. Erik couldn't take it anymore. As soon as the song hit the chorus he shot out of the room like a bat out of hell.

"Get him, Anna!" Brooke hollered.

Anna was on Erik's heels in an instant. She cornered him on the shores of Lake Averne trying to make a get away in the boat.

"Erik, you still have to watch 'Charlie the Unicorn'!"

"I've had enough brain-damaging intake for one day, thank you very much!" With that Erik jumped into the boat, but Anna didn't let him off the hook that easily. She jumped in after him, causing the boat to rock dangerously. The motion threw Erik on top of Anna. She clasped him tightly.

"Ha! Gotcha. Now you have to come back."

Erik shoved her away and sat up. "Don't do that!" he hissed.

Her smile disappeared. "Is something wrong?" Her voice was small and meek.

Erik's breathing was ragged, but his eyes softened when he saw the look of hurt on her face. "Oh, mon merle, you don't understand what happens to me when…when you're that close. Now please, get out of the boat."

Anna was certain her heart must have stopped beating for one moment. The beating started up again, pounding with increasing intensity. She scrambled out of the boat and ran for the door. She flung it open, but paused and turned to Erik once more.

"No, Erik, you're wrong. I do understand what it does to you…that is, if it's the same thing that happens to me." Without a second glance, she disappeared into the house.

In an instant, Erik felt his face burning with the deepest blush. Now he _really_ needed to think. Donning the extra mask he kept in the boat, he quickly poled across the lake and began the long ascent to the rooftop.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Back inside the bat cave…**

"What happened to you? Where's Erik?" Brooke quizzed her cousin.

"I don't know where he went…he didn't want me to touch him," Anna replied, half-dreamily, half-confusedly.

"Why not?"

"He said…it did things to him." The redhead flushed as the words left her mouth.

Brooke let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's kinda intense."

"Yeah."

Cue awkward pause.

Brooke shifted her weight. "So…you wanna go indoctrinate the ballet rats with NSYNC?"

Anna brightened. "You're a genius!"

"I know."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**To be continued…**_


	62. Anna Had Competion

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**BeautifullyTragic91: **The cousins are never returning to the 21st century. I'm not worrying about that at all. It complicates the story way too much.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

ANNA HAS COMPETION

_Another Blipic_

Erik slowly made his way down from the rooftop. He had spent a good three hours sitting on Apollo's lyre, thinking and contemplating. He had fought against the cowardice that had held his heart captive for so long and he finally overcame it. He loved Anna tremendously…more than he had ever thought possible…even when in the middle of his infatuation with Christine. If Anna meant so much to him, then he would overcome every obstacle for her. She deserved nothing less. If he would murder for Christine, then he would be brave for Anna.

And he would start by telling her that he loved her…ASAP.

Thus, Erik descended into the opera house intent upon flinging himself at Anna's feet. And if her response was favorable then he might just be brave enough to offer her the gold ring sitting in his top bureau drawer.

The Phantom passed by the ballet practice room when he heard a nauseatingly familiar sound. He edged closer and, much to his chagrin, recognized the strains of "It's Gonna Be Me." Scuttling through the vents circumventing the practice room, Erik beheld a most amazing sight: Meg Giry and the corps de ballet dancing to the electronic beats and ultra-tenor voices of NSYNC. A mischievous giggle reverberated off the walls of the ventilation tunnels. Erik's sensitive ears picked it up immediately. He turned in the direction of the telltale giggling. Sure enough, it led him straight to the cousins.

Seeing Anna made Erik's heart pound, but the tunnel was hardly the place for profusions of love. So he feigned indifference...for the time being.

"Hello, Erik," chirped the dynamic duo.

"What in the name Charles Garnier are you doing?"

"Indoctrinating the ballet rats."

Erik noted the diabolical gleam in Brooke's eyes as she watched the ballerinas attempt to put together a pop routine.

"Brooke, I don't know how you'll ever get along without an outlet for your insanity," Erik said.

The brunette gave him a rakish grin. "Who says I won't have an outlet?"

"I still think we should have given them the DVD with dance instructions," Anna muttered.

"Enough of this foolishness. Time to go home." With that, Erik reached over and turned off the small radio providing the music. A cry of disappointment arose from the girls below. Just then, Madame Giry stormed in, looking less than pleased with her little troupe of dancers.

"Your shenanigans are distracting the candidates in the try-outs. To the barre! Immediately!" she hissed, rapping her can on the floor. The ballet rats scattered.

Up above, Anna and Brooke stifled giggles.

"Whoops. Didn't mean to get them in trouble."

Erik frowned. "What did she mean by try-outs?"

"They're holding auditions for an understudy for Christine," Anna said.

"Why didn't I know about this?"

Brooke grinned slyly, "Maybe because you've been a little distracted as of late?"

Both of her companions instantly flushed deep crimson.

"Let's go," Erik whispered, leading the way out of the tunnel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**At the auditions…**

Her voice filled the auditorium like a beam of light piercing a cavern of darkness, every note as clear as the crystals on the massive chandelier. Nothing could be more captivating than that sweet sound, save the radiance of her face.

It seemed that the very soul of the music had possessed her, filling her with light so that her waves of golden hair shone as bright as the sun. Indeed, all of her glowed with the warmth of her song. Her skin was smooth and pale as porcelain, though her cheeks were rosy. Her large violet eyes, curtained by perfect lashes, carried a lifetime of sorrows and moments of stolen ecstasy. A simple green peasant's dress, complete with laced bodice, clothed her luscious figure. Though her face and manner were as demure as a servant girl's, her posture bespoke of a secret, noble heritage.

Everyone in attendance was held spellbound by her beauty. Up in Box Five, Erik regarded the resplendent girl with vague curiosity, distracted from his mission with Anna.

"What is she?" he wondered out loud. He turned to the cousins. They stood behind him, pale as ghosts.

"Great nightmare before Christmas," Brooke breathed.

"What?"

Anna gulped. "It's a Mary Sue."


	63. On Edge

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**Tian Sirki: **No need apologize, my dear. I didn't update for months, so I hardly deserve an apology. I understand that while Fan Fiction is a wonderful thing, in the grand scheme of life it must give way to many other realities. Furthermore, there is no need to apologize for being in the Land Down Under!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**ON EDGE**

The house on Lake Averne was on a constant Level 5 terror alert. Erik was not permitted to leave the premises. He objected strongly to being placed under house arrest, but Anna and Brooke weren't taking any chances, not with a Mary Sue on the loose. Each cousin was delegated specific tasks: Anna guarded HQ and the Phantom while Brooke patrolled the opera house, keeping an eye and an ear open to any developments.

Whilst on one such patrol, Brooke—dressed as the Spirit—stumbled across the Sue, journaling in the chapel. Great, sparkling teardrops dripped from her lashes (NEVER from her perfectly, up-turned nose) and strategically smudged the writing on the sacred parchment pages.

_A journal: ideal inspiration for blackmail, humiliation, and mischief of all kinds, _Brooke reasoned. She followed the Sue—at a safe distance to avoid the Sue's theatre haunt radar—and easily procured the journal from beneath the loose floorboard beside the Sue's dormitory bed. Delighted with her successful raid, the Spirit made up her mind to report back to HQ with her findings. She was well on her merry way when she spied the dreaded Sue wandering straight toward the Patron's Office.

Brooke's blood chilled at the thought of the Sue floating across Raoul's path. It was a possibility she hadn't considered. The outcome of such an encounter was uncertain. There was a slight chance that the Sue would be attracted to the Vicomte. It was more likely that Raoul would be attracted to her. Brooke snarled.

Just then the door to the office opened and out waltzed the young Vicomte. Brooke went rigid, frozen in terror, watching helplessly as her fiancé and the Sue drifted closer and closer and closer…until…

"Oh, hello, are you lost? You must be the new understudy. I'm the Vicomte…I say, are you all right?"

The Sue had gone pale-er. She staggered back, eyes wide with terror, a dainty porcelain hand pressed to her cherry-red lips.

"No. NO! I thought I was safe here!" she rasped.

Raoul was profoundly confused. "Um, well, you _are _safe here…I can get you some water if you'd like." He reached out to steady her. She recoiled from his hand as though it were a snake.

"DON'T TOUCH ME! NEVER AGAIN!" she shrieked. With that, the Sue fled down the hall; sobbing and staggering all the way back to the chapel.

Raoul was profoundly confused…again. Brooke made her move, edging out of a secret door nearby.

"Raoul!"

The Vicomte jumped. "AH! Oh, it's only you, darling. I just had the most random encounter—"

"With a terrible monster. I saw the whole thing. Now let's go!" She reached out to grab him.

"Wha—ACK!"

By the time the managers emerged from the office, the Vicomte was nowhere to seen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Back at the batcave…**

"I still don't understand why you're raising hell and high water over this girl!"

"She's dangerous, Erik!"

"You keep saying that, but you never say why. That creature hardly looks dangerous. Any of the ballet rats could knock her out with a single punch...on second thought, a ballet rat could kill her with a watered-down description of their sexual escapades."

"That's not it."

Erik loomed over the red-headed time traveler. "Then _EXPLAIN IT!" _

Not to be intimidated, Anna jumped up on to the sitting room sofa, grabbed Erik's lapels, and jerked him close. "She's a vicious, phantom-eating monster who will steal your virginity, rob you of your insanity, and turn your life into mush sappier than a Nicholas Sparks book!"

"What did Nicholas Sparks write?"

"_The Notebook."_

"Oh, no."

"Yes and another thing, that Mary Sue may look all innocence and purity, but once she gets you in bed, in the gondola, or wherever she'll turn into this crazy, kinky sex machine! All her pristine virtues go down the toilet with the goldfish once she surrenders to the burning passion that's been smoldering between you for weeks…maybe months if she's got extra horrifying emotional scars to get over."

Anna finally paused for breath, her face as red and harried as her hair. Suddenly, a look of comprehension crossed Erik's face. His marred mouth twisted into a gleeful smile.

"I understand it now."

"Good."

"You're jealous!"

Anna's eyes widened in shock, "What?"

"You're jealous of Mary Sue…because of _me!" _The last words Erik's lips with a note of ecstatic triumph and hope.

Anna shoved him away. "I am _not _jealous."

Erik leaned in, "Then why won't you let me leave the house?"

"Why do you look so happy at the thought that I _might _be jealous?"

Erik's sunken blues eyes glittered and he leaned in further, forcing Anna to hold on tighter to avoid falling over the back of the sofa. "I asked you first."

"Ladies first! Therefore, my question gets answered first."

"I thought progressive thinking meant that a woman has every right to voice her opinions and _wishes _as a man, even if that means _admitting _things first."

"Progressive thinking hasn't been invented yet."

All at once the door to Lake Averne flew open and Raoul and Brooke breezed inside. Erik and Anna sprang apart. The motion was so sudden that Anna would have toppled over if the Phantom hadn't caught her and set her back on her feet.

Before the smug-looking Brooke could say a single, scandalous word, Erik zeroed in on the Vicomte.

"What is _he _doing here?"

"Relax, Erik, you're not rivals anymore," said Brooke. "I invited him over for dinner."

"Since when do we invite people over for dinner?"

"Since I got engaged."

Erik was silenced for the time being. Anna sulked in her favorite chair until Brooke made the following announcement from the top of the massive oak table:

"Hear ye, hear ye, I have procured from the lair of the dreaded Mary Sue an object of much mystery and terror: the Sue's diary!"

Brooke held the leather-bound book aloft. In a flash, Anna was beside her, begging to know the book's contents. Both girls flew to the sofa and settled in for a story which promised to out-do any movie (romance or horror: take your pick) they had ever seen.

"I feel like we should have popcorn and flashlights," Anna said with a giggle.

Meanwhile, Raoul leaned toward Erik and whispered, "Who is Mary Sue?"

"A monstrously melodramatic, sex-crazed female masquerading as a fragile, virtuous ingénue," replied the Phantom.

"Oh…she wouldn't happen to be Christine's new understudy, would she?"

"The very same." Erik then shot his former nemesis a dark look. "How do you know?"

"She's the only _seemingly _virtuous woman in the Opera House's employ."

Erik conceded the point with a nod and offered Raoul a chair before taking one for himself. By then Brooke had begun to read aloud from the diary…


	64. The World of a Mary Sue

**A/N: **Misty sat in her swivel chair, headphones glued to her ears as she swayed to the music. She didn't see the now-physically fit The Gerry stealthily approaching Mr. Darcy from behind, Punjab lasso in hand.

The Gerry was poised to strike when Captain Marianne breezed into the den.

"Gerry! Behave yourself!" the Captain scolded. "Misty!"

The Authoress didn't budge. Captain Marianne poked her.

"Ack! I hate being poked!" Misty snarled as she whipped off the headphones. "Especially when listening to the OLC recording of "Wandering Child"." Misty's eyes went dreamy.

Marianne dismissed her with a shrug. "I'll bet you'd hate having a dead Mr. Darcy on your hands, too."

Misty flew out of her seat, tackled the Gerry, and wrestled the Punjab lasso away from him. "Leave Mr. Darcy alone!"

"Well, at least you're paying me some attention now," the Gerry said.

Misty climbed off of him and sat in Mr. Darcy's lap. Mr. Darcy didn't say anything. He had run out of words to express his indignation at such treatment, so he didn't bother any more. Misty glanced over Mr. Darcy's shoulder at Savvy, her best friend who had usurped the Gerry's beanbag.

"Hey, Savvy, will you keep the Gerry company?"

Savvy's eyes glittered. "Sure!"

The Gerry submitted without much of a fuss.

Captain Marianne cleared her throat. "I just wanted to report the state of things in realm of the minions."

"Yes?"

"They are currently researching methods of Mary Sue extermination."

"What do you mean by researching?"

"They're running tests on Van Helsing."

"And he's still alive?"

"They've found a way to cross-pollinate him with Wolverine so that he heals quickly."

"Poor man. Well, we may have some use for those methods."

"What do you mean?"

"Anna _and _Erik are going to need all the help they can get before the Opera House is rid of the Mary Sue."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**THE WORLD OF A MARY SUE**

_Dearest Diary…_

xxxx

"Who addresses their diary as 'dearest'?"

"Sues do, Erik. It's in their nature."

xxxx

…_It has been many months since I last took up my pen to write. I start afresh here, with you, because the previous records of my sad life have been forever erased from existence. If only memory were so easily done away with, too. _

_About a month ago I left all I had ever known in this world to make a new life for myself in Paris, France. What little money I had left paid for my journey to Paris and kept me off the streets long enough for me to find work at the Paris Opera House, of all places! I had expected to be employed as a washerwoman at least…_

xxxx

"So that I could pretend like I'm Cinderella."

"Anna! Shush!"

xxxx

…_but, lo and behold, I am the understudy for the greatest diva this stage has ever seen: Mademoiselle Christine Daaé! I couldn't imagine a greater honor. After all that has befallen me this sudden change of fortune has left me breathless._

xxxx

"Everything leaves a Mary Sue breathless."

"Anna!"

"Well, it's true—heaving chest and all! Read on, Brooke."

"That's it for this entry."

"So read her name."

"She didn't sign it."

"What?" Anna snatched the diary away to examine it. "That cheap skank! What good is it if we don't know her name?"

Raoul frowned, "I thought her name was Mary Sue."

"That's just her species, darling. Now, Anna, if you would hand back the diary we shall sally forth into the next entry."

"Fine."

xxxx

_Dearest Diary,_

_Today was my first day of practice with the corps de ballet. I've never felt so sore in all my life, excepting, of course, after those wild gallops with—but I must not let my mind wander over what is past._

xxxx

"Damn. Just when it had me at the edge of my seat."

xxxx

_That is more easily accomplished these days when I have so much of which to think. What a joy it is to have employment for one's hands and mind! But I must confess…_

xxxx

"Confessions!"

xxxx

…_that my work is not the only thing that occupies my thoughts. The girls of the ballet have a passion for storytelling. I don't know how much they may be relied upon for integrity, but several of their bedtime tales have left me with chills running up and down my spine. They all relate to Mlle. Daaé and the mysterious being who haunts this theatre. _

xxxx

Erik sat bolt upright.

xxxx

_They call him the Phantom of the Opera. The title alone is enough to inspire fear and curiosity all at once. From what I have gathered from the girls in the ballet, no one can say they have ever truly seen the Phantom, except for the brief appearance he made at last year's masquerade ball. They tell me that he was passionately, obsessively, dangerously in love with Mlle. Daaé, to the point of madness. They tell me that he haunted her every step and her every dream. _

_I asked Little Jammes and Kathryn (they are the friendliest of the troupe) how Mlle. Daaé came to be involved with such a man…or ghost, I cannot say for certain. They told me that he was her music teacher, her Angel of Music as she called him. He was the one who taught her voice to soar as it does! It thrills me to the bones just thinking about the genius that this Angel must possess._

xxxx

Raoul quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure she's talking about Erik?"

Anna smirked, "She most certainly is."

"She sounds like a phan girl," Brooke said.

"That's what all Mary Sues are at heart."

xxxx

_I longed to know more of him… _

xxxx

"Naturally."

xxxx

…_so I fashioned myself into a most willing listener for anyone who had a story to tell. If I could write it all out upon this page I might, but it seems sacrilegious to document such a tale as this. All of his labors for the love of Mlle. Daaé have been in vain. I wondered that she could refuse so ardent a lover, but Kathryn and Jammes told me of his monstrous appearance. What they described to me (descriptions no doubt filched from the tongues of the roguish crew) I cannot bring myself to write down. Furthermore, I have learned that Mlle. Daaé was said to have been in love with a young Vicomte (love of titled nobility is a dangerous business, I might add)…_

xxxx

Raoul squirmed uncomfortably.

xxxx

…_All this amazes me. I confess that I cannot entirely blame Mlle. Daaé for her refusal of the Phantom's love because I have often sensed in her that deep scar of past affliction, which has not yet ceased to be a torment and continues to mar the better judgment. I do believe that she and I could be kindred spirits one day. She seems such a warm, genuine person…_

xxxx

There was a slight pause in the reading while Anna and Brooke laughed until their sides throbbed with pain.

xxxx

…_Still, all of this has left me with a greater longing to know this Phantom, monstrous appearance and all. His story is as tragic as my own. _

_P.S. Kathryn and Jammes did mention two other haunts that appear to be companions to the Phantom: the Raven and the Spirit. Apparently, they bear much ill will toward Mlle. Daaé. I do not know what to make of them yet. _

xxxx

"Well, I know what I'll make of her and it won't taste good enough for the dogs to eat!" Anna snarled. "Did she sign it this time?"

"No."

"Next entry then."

xxxx

_Dearest Diary,_

_You are my only friend here in this miserable place. I should have known that the good fortune I received upon my arrival was too good a bliss to last. It does not matter where I turn, the past always follows and new misfortunes join it. I thought that I had at last found some true friends amongst my fellow workers, but how dreadfully deceived was I. Beneath the masks of friendliness everyone of them conceals a heart of malice. The girls are petty and jealous, the crew lecherous, and the patrons snobs. But I should not blubber so. It is disgraceful in one such as I…_

xxxx

"She's uncommonly bitter for a Sue," Anna observed.

"I'll wager ten francs she never betrays one iota of these feelings to any human being. She saves it all for the diary. That's why it is such a good source," said Brooke.

"But don't forget, we still haven't learned her name," Erik put in.

Anna shot him an angry glare. "Why do you want to know her name so badly?"

"I don't. _You _do."

xxxx

…_But I forgot. I have not told you who I am, have I? Perhaps I should. I only avoided writing my history down because it was so painful to remember. It all came flooding back today when I had my first on stage rehearsal as Mlle. Daaé's understudy. Standing upon that stage and singing as I have not sang since…that tragic night so many months ago. I broke down in tears. It was too much to bear: the newly discovered backstabbing of the ballet corps and the crew and then this unexpected recollection of the past. No doubt the girls are enjoying a good laugh at my expense. La Sorelli and Meg Giry must be in the lead. They have never spoken a single kind word to me, or even a word at all… _

xxxx

"That's odd," Erik muttered. "Sorelli and Little Giry are usually the more mature and kindly of the group."

"That _is _strange. Sues normally become instant friends with Meg Giry," Brooke said.

"Maybe Meg and Sorelli have sensed her true Sue nature and have decided to ignore her and then the Sue has interpreted their silence as snobbery," Anna reasoned.

xxxx

…_Alas! I sound as bad as the pettiest of the ballerinas. Even worse, I sound like a coward. My family patriarchs would turn in their graves if they saw how I have tried to run from the past, tail tucked in like a whipped dog. Well, even where courage fails, pride prevails…_

xxxx

"That was catchy."

"Sh! I sense some juicy secrets up ahead!"

xxxx

…_thus, I shall relate to you my history._

xxxx

"Finally!" Brooke crowed.

Anna snorted, "Ten francs and a brand new dress says that she is the only daughter of some grand duke who was dreadfully negligent following the death of his beloved, beautiful wife, while the rich stepmother was as wicked as they come. Our dear Sue went through her pampered life misunderstood, sheltered, and controlled by all excepting her beloved elder brother Emile who doted on her and taught her to sing like an angel until the night he died in a fire which burnt the estate to the ground. Afterwards, the wicked stepmother forced the Sue into marrying a devastatingly handsome comte who was lustful and abusive. Happily, with the help of a decrepit manservant and a fine horse, the Sue managed to flee from her groom on their wedding night and ran to Paris, where he'll never find her (unless she's stupid enough to make a name for herself as the opera's next big thing). Unhappily, she stills retains deep emotional scarring."

Everyone blinked.

"I'll take you up on that bet," Erik said.

They all gapped at him in surprise.

"Are you joking?" Anna asked.

"No, I am perfectly sincere. If this Sue's tale is exactly as you predict, I'll give you ten francs _and_ buy you the finest gown in Paris for Mlle. Cheney's masquerade ball. I'll even go shopping with you to find it."

"You're on! Raoul, Brooke, you're witnesses!"

The Phantom and the Raven shook hands on it.

xxxx

_I am Alaine Bianca Cordelia Desdemona Eustasia Francine Georgette Helena Iris Josephine Kassandra Lucille Mignonette Nancy Ophelia Priscilla Quennell Rachael Sophia Theodora Ursula Veronica Willa Xaviere Yvette Zipporah du Prix…_

xxxx

Brooke paused to take a breath.

"Nancy?"

xxxx

…_the only daughter of Duke John Louis du Prix XII. Our family can trace its history back to the days of Charlemagne. My family called me Alaine, but here I go by Ophelia…_

xxxx

"Duh duh! Am I sensing some major literary parallels here?"

"Ophelia _did_ drown."

"Maybe this one will, too."

xxxx

…Two hours later Erik owed Anna ten francs and a new gown.

"I must say that I've never heard a tale of more woe," Raoul said.

"What about Juliet and her Romeo?" Brooke asked.

"I've heard worse," Anna said.

"I've _lived _worse, thank you very much!" Erik declared.

Anna giggled as she stood.

"I'm glad you find my misery so amusing. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to fix supper."

The redhead traipsed off to the kitchen. Erik followed her, leaving Raoul and Brooke alone. Anna busied herself with collecting all the ingredients and utensils she required whilst Erik scowled at the table.

"Something troubling you?" Anna asked.

"How dare she claim her tale is as tragic as mine?"

Anna burst out laughing, "Oh Erik, you can be so childish at times. I _told _you that Sues have a flair for dramatics."

"Shouldn't you call her Ophelia?"

"I'll call her whatever I please. I can think of a few choice names right now."

"Before we are beset by a barrage of parchment notes, may I remind you to keep a PG rating?"

Anna huffed and went about her cooking. Silence settled on the little kitchen. Since he had begun paying more attention to Anna, the Phantom had discovered that she enjoyed cooking as much as she enjoyed flowers.

"What are you making, mon merle?"

"Clam linguini with white wine sauce."

"Well, I'm sure it would smell delicious if I could smell very well."

"Then I suppose you'll have to sample some."

Erik came nearer. "If it makes you feel better, Anna, I won't go near the Mary Sue. You have my word."

Anna glanced up, her eyes meeting his. "Thank you…Um, when shall we go shopping?"

"Shopping?"

"For the dress you owe me?"

"Oh, yes."

"And of course, we must set about planning Brooke's wedding."

"Already?"

By then Anna had finished a plate of appetizers and left to deliver it to Brooke and Raoul. Erik trailed her like a shadow. They threw open the door to the sitting room just in time to see the betrothed lovers spring apart from a rather passionate embrace. Both Brooke and her Vicomte were flushed and their clothes were rumpled.

Anna glanced up at Erik. "Yes, already. Can't happen soon enough it seems."

Erik glared at Raoul. "I am persuaded then, but first, Raoul and I have some unfinished business. M. le Vicomte, if you will follow me?"

The Phantom strode past them and into the Louis-Phillipe room. Brooke clung to Raoul.

"Don't go!"

Raoul chuckled as he detached himself from her. "I think I can protect myself, darling."

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes! Do you hear?"

"Yes, yes." He gave her a kiss on the forehead before following Erik.

Just before the door shut, Brooke called out in a loud voice: "Erik, if you push him into the torture chamber a…"

A duo of male voices interrupted her: "A disaster beyond your imagination will occur. We KNOW!" With that, the door snapped shut.

Anna set her plate down, shaking her head and giggling. "So, did you two get to second base?"

Brooke blushed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Inside the Louis-Phillipe room…**

"M. le Vicomte, as Brooke's guardian I feel I must convey to you my sentiments on the subject of your impending marriage," Erik began.

Raoul nodded. "I understand, sir."

"Good. Then let me be frank: if you hurt or dishonor her in any way, shape, or form I will _not_ hesitate to kill you. And believe me, I won't be merciful."


	65. The Hobbits and Their Lassies

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

**A/N: **"Is it just me or do Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman sound funny whenever they sing something other than _Phantom_?"

"Sh! Gerry, the minions will hear you!"

"So what? Most of them think I'm hot, so I can get away with it. But seriously, I've heard Crawford make "Baby Mine" from _Dumbo _sound like a pedophile wrote it."

"What are you talking about?"

"His voice was reeking Phantom and here he was singing a song about 'baby of mine'."

"Ew."

"Then another time I heard Brightman sing "My Heart Will Go On" in Italian I don't care what language it's in that song is forever old and overdone. Besides, she was using that weird little girl warble voice."

"You know, _you're _one to talk! You choked on "Music of the Night"!"

"I can still sing!"

"Not like they can."

"There are different kinds of singing—no matter what Erik says."

"True. Gerry, I think you were a rock star trapped in an opera singer's life. Well, now that we've insulted our entire audience will you let me get on with the chapter?"

"Be my guest."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

THE HOBBITS AND THEIR LASSIES

There was not much to be had from Ophelia's diary once she realized that someone was reading it. She left it beneath the loose floorboard beside her bed, but never wrote in it anything of substantial value. Eventually, she ceased writing altogether. Meanwhile, she was becoming a figure of increasing interest for the other employees of the Opera House. The stagehands lusted after her, so did the male patrons. The ballerinas, seamstresses, and laundresses all teased and abused her. The older women scolded her. The managers ignored her. And Christine hated her.

In short, Ophelia had a very typical Sue life. Except for the fact that Erik had shown no interest in her whatsoever.

She resorted to all sorts of Sue tricks to gain his attention. She sang lonely, forlorn songs in the chapel. She hung about the door to Box Five. Her eyes glistened with compassion. Her body quivered with longing. Her voice rang with unreleased passion. She even ended up in Christine's old dressing room, gazing at the magic mirror from whence the Angel of Music came.

But it was all to no avail. Erik kept his word to Anna. He kept his heart for her, too, but he could not seem to work up enough courage to give it to her yet. Still…Anna sensed the change in Erik's behavior towards her. He was more irritable when cross, more tender when pleased. She took both as a good sign. Thus, there existed an unspoken secret between their two hearts.

But back to Ophelia the Mary Sue.

The cousins felt that in order to keep the Sue at bay they needed to know something of her thought pattern. They didn't really need the diary. Sues are not very complex creatures; one can surmise their thoughts by merely observing their actions. However, the Raven and the Spirit had very little time for haunting these days. Oh, they made sure the ballet rats knew who was boss, but with a wedding to plan and dresses to buy the dynamic duo was hard press to find time to adequately track the Sue.

They stumbled upon the solution in the haylofts of the opera's stables one night after a performance.

"Pass the rum, Pip," Que slurred. His partner in mischief complied, heaving the brown jug over a hay bale, and spilling it in the process.

Que hefted the jug to his mouth and received nothing more than a dribble. He shook the jug, stared into it, and wailed. Nothing.

Tears filled his bleary eyes as he blubbered, "Why is the rum—"

"Don't over do the rum jokes, boys."

"_WAAAH!"_ The hobbits shrieked and jumped sky high. Towering over them were the notorious theatre haunts: the Raven and the Spirit. The two ghosts were dressed in all of their famous splendor, complete with masks. The Spirit leaned over the shivering boys, a wicked gleam shining in her eyes.

"It's just us." she whispered.

"Jus' us who?" Pip asked.

"The Misses Leroux!" the Raven cried. Both girls lifted their masks.

Pip's already rosy face burned with anger. "I might-a known it was you! Scarin' the life outta us and we've jus' 'ad our 'earts broken."

Concern immediately came over the faces of the cousins. They sat beside their old friends, patting the hobbits on their backs as they burst into messy tears.

"Pip, Que, what on earth is wrong?" Brooke cried.

Que sniveled, wiping his nose with his dirty sleeve. "Our lassies 'ave lost their 'earts to some rogue!"

"The same rogue?"

"Aye!"

Anna frowned. Jammes and Kathryn were young and flirtatious, but generally good girls. Moreover, most of the men seen about the Opera House on a regular basis were not that tempting.

"Who is this rogue?" she asked.

"Tha' bloody detective friend o' Miss Sisly's!" Pip spat.

Anna's face went white. Brooke gulped.

"Do you mean Algernon Moncreiff?" Brooke ventured, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

Unfortunately, Que answered in the affirmative, "Aye, t' very same."

Anna grabbed him by the collar, "What is he doing here?"

"Jus' lookin' for some skirts to chase," Que snapped. He shoved her away and went back to wallow in his self-pity.

Anna stood up. Her mind was whirling. She knew why Algy was really hanging around the Opera House. Brooke appeared at her shoulder.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'm afraid."

"Of what exactly?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I'm more afraid of Algy finding us or of Erik finding Algy."

"Should we tell Erik?"

The cousins locked eyes. If Erik murdered Algy then the Angel of Music could kiss his chance at a normal, above ground life good-bye.

"I think," Anna began, "That we should tell him. We betrayed his trust once, we shouldn't risk doing it again."

"What about risking Algy's neck?" Brooke asked.

"Erik's mellowed out. Besides, he doesn't want to be stuck here forever."

Brooke quirked an eyebrow and smirked. Meanwhile, the hobbits had been reduced to quiet hiccupping. Their eyes were red and puffy and rivulets of snot dripped from their noses. The girls felt their own hearts breaking on behalf of their dear friends. Suddenly, Brooke was struck with a brilliant scheme.

"Pip? Que?"

"Wot?"

"I know of way that we can all help each other out."

The hobbits sat up and listened intently. Anna leaned forward.

Brooke continued, "Have you heard about the new understudy?"

"Aye."

"Well, we'd like you to find out as much as you can about her. Find out what she does with her spare hours, who or what she talks about."

Pip frowned, "Wot ever for?"

"She's dangerous to us—Erik and us girls."

"Ooooh!"

Que questioned, "But if we start stalkin' t' udderstudy our lassies'll take us fer rogues."

"Ah, but you'll need their help because they have better access to her than you do."

Que still argued, "But we aboot tha' 'tective wot's got their 'tention?"

Anna chimed in with a diabolical chuckle, "We'll take care of that."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Late that night, as they returned from their nightly toilet, Jammes and Kathryn received a visit from the Phantom's companions.

"Hello, Jammes," hissed the Spirit. The ballerina shrieked.

"Hello, Kathryn," croaked the Raven. Another shriek. The two petite dancers clung to one another in terror. Although they could not see the specters, they instantly recognized those bone-chilling voices.

"We have a favor to ask of you," the Spirit said from somewhere overhead. Jammes and Kathryn nodded frantically. Anything to appease the infamous duo.

"We want you to find out all you can about Ophelia."

Suddenly, Kathryn found her voice. "But we can't talk to her. Everyone in the corps despised her!"

"We duly empathize," came the Raven's voice from somewhere behind them. "No one hates Ophelia more than we. That is precisely why this must be done. You are to find out all she knows and feels about the Phantom and report it back to Pip and Que."

The dancers started in alarm.

"Pip and Que!" Jammes wailed, "Are you going to hurt them?"

The Spirit laughed (a very thin, eerie laugh). "Never fear! Pip and Que will always have our good favor." All at once the jolly tone in her voice evaporated. "You would do well to give them _your _good favor as well."

"Beware," rasped the Raven, "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, especially that no-good Algernon Moncreiff, you bring the wrath of the Phantom upon your heads."

Kathryn and Jammes trembled and nodded. They stood a moment longer, waiting with baited breath for the haunts to speak again, but only silence reigned. At their feet there lay a single black feather.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**A/N: **Hello, dearies! Well, we're climbing towards 2,000 reviews. Thank you all so much for the encouragement and the enthusiasm. I'm sorry that I haven't done review replies in a long time. I do read all of the reviews and I want you to know that they are appreciated.

Well, summer is almost over and you all know what that means. School. Lots of it. I'm in for a hectic year, so if I don't update in awhile it'll be because I'm neck deep in 25-page papers, internships, commutes, and maintaining a relationship. However, I did promise you all that I would finish _Phantom Companions _and I intend to honor that promise. So if you want to see Erik and Anna's ending, then stick around and be patient.

That said; you should also know that we are, in fact, five chapters away from the end of this mad-capped escapade. I hope you'll enjoy them.

Until chapter 66!

Your obedient servant,

M.B.


	66. Hide and Seek

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.

A/N: The wardrobe doors flew open, causing The Gerry to leap out of his beanbag with a startled yelp. A whirl of papers blew through the doors and then Misty herself stepped out, silver cloak and all.

The Gerry swept her up in his arms and whirled around the room.

"You're back! You're back! You're back!" he cried.

"My back!" she cried, wincing in pain as his strong arms squeezed her waist a little too tightly.

The Gerry set her on her feet again. "Sorry. You've been gone for almost a year!"

Misty nodded and sighed. "I know, but that is just the way of life. I had enough writing to keep me busy without updating. Yet, I did promise that I would finish _Phantom Companions_ and so here I am."

The Authoress gazed about her old den. It was dusty with neglect and the rest of the house seemed to have been completely deserted. Even the sock army had disappeared. At last she cleared her desk and sat down to write.

"Gerry, would you pin this up in Minion HQ?" she asked, waving a note in his direction.

The Gerry blanched. "I can't go out there. If any of _them _are still around I'll never make it back alive."

"Take your Invisibility Cloak."

Moments later this note mysteriously appeared in Minion HQ for any remaining minions to read.

_Dear Readers,_

_It's been far too long, I know. A few reviews have trickled into my inbox, all asking me if I am still alive. I told you I would finish this and I intend to do so. _

_So, for those of you who have been patiently waiting, thank you for your patience? Here it is._

_Your obedient servant,_

_M.B._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

HIDE AND SEEK

Unbeknownst to the ballet rats that were warming up for the evening's performance, a shadowy figure was slithering through secret passages over their heads. Without so much as a whisper, the figure traced its way through the hidden paths of the Paris Opera House until it crashed headlong into another slithering shadowy figure.

Figure 1 fell back with a thud and would have cried out in surprise, but Figure 2 clamped a hand over Figure 1's mouth.

"Sh!" Figure 2 hissed, but the ballet rats were already alerted to the presence of the specters. The younger ones shrieked in excitement when they heard the bumps and thumps of ghostly activity taking place somewhere overhead. In general, the ballet corps rather enjoyed the terrifying company of the theatre haunts. It scared them half to death, but that was the fun of it.

There was one person standing in the practice room that did not share in the girls' giddy terror. Algernon Moncreiff stood stalk-still as he strained to hear where the mysterious noises came from, but the clamor of the ballerinas frustrated all attempts. For weeks now, Algy had been hanging about the Opera House. The detective told the managers that he had a hunch that could prove useful in the capture of the ever elusive and expensive Phantom of the Opera. Of course, the managers were eager to get rid of the costly ghost, so they allowed Algy access to any part of the theatre he wished to search.

He made some efforts to converse with the ballerinas on the subject, but they, whether from fear or loyalty, refused to say anything about the Phantom or his companions. The stagehands and other employees gave his some information, but none of much use. He even got an interview with the Opera's prima donna, Mlle. Christine Daaé. However, Christine knew better than to rat Erik out to a detective.

This put Algy back to square one. Snooping. Having heard that the ballet rats were often visited by ghostly noises while they practiced, he decided to spend some time in their practice room.

In the tunnels above the room, the two figures watched the detective carefully.

"We're in trouble," Erik whispered.

"He won't be able to find us," Anna replied.

"Perhaps not here in the Opera House, but outside it…" Erik trailed off. Anna could see his anger rising as he clenched his fists. He kept a check on his emotions. It wouldn't do any good to throw a fit here. There just wasn't enough room to do his fury justice.

"Let's go home," Erik said. "We can talk freely there."

The redhead nodded and followed him.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

**Back in the batcave…**

Erik threw a royal temper tantrum. Brooke and Anna hid in their bedroom. Dresses, corsets, and bloomers littered the floor, looking as though a hurricane had blown through. They were in the midst of preparing for a weekend at Cecily's little country manor just a few miles outside the city. The girls had been looking forward to a break from stressful wedding planning, but now they feared the trip would be called off. Once the shouting had died down Anna ventured to Erik's room.

"Why does this happen? Why does this always have to happen?" he growled. "Every time I come close to living as a normal human being something or someone gets in the way."

"Isn't there something we can do to get rid of him," Anna said, quickly adding, "That doesn't involve death?"

"I highly doubt it," Erik snarled. He was angry about more than just the threat to his opportunity to leave his miserable life behind. He knew why that infuriatingly handsome detective was on their trail. The Phantom threw a glance at Anna. She was so pretty. He didn't really blame Algy for taking an interest in her; but all the same, Erik felt extremely territorial when it came to the redheaded time traveler. It took all of his will power to resist punjabing Algy in some dark corner of the Opera House.

"Are we not going to go to Cecily's this weekend then?" Anna asked quietly.

Erik looked her in the eye. "Do you still want to go?"

"Yes, wouldn't it be better than just letting him cow us into hiding?"

Erik heaved a sigh. He'd much rather _not _face a weekend out of the safety of his lair, but one look at Anna's pleading expression and he knew he was done for.

He shrugged. "I can't deny you anything, mon merle."

Anna smiled. Normally, she would have squealed in excitement, but at the moment, it did not seem appropriate. So, she simply stood on tiptoe and kissed Erik's cheek. "Thanks, Erik."

In a rustle of fabric she was gone, leaving a stunned Phantom in her wake. Erik closed his eyes. He could die happy now. All because of a simple kiss, but the kiss sealed his fate: he _would_ find a way to deal with Algernon Moncrieff. Nothing was going thwart his plans for his and Anna's future. He paced his room for a few moments, trying to find a good solution. His first impulse told him to just kill the idiot and get it over with. _No! _Erik thought to himself, _Murdering days are over. _

Suddenly, the clouds broke and the sun shone through (not that you could tell from the opera's fifth cellar): Erik discovered a brilliant answer to his problem. Without wasting any time, he grabbed his cloak and mask. He stopped at the girls' door before leaving the lair.

"Ladies?"

The door cracked open, revealing a glimpse of the jungle of clothes within. Brooke stood at the door. "Yes?"

"I'm going up to the ground floor, but I'll be back in time to leave. It's a just a little matter of business."

Brooke quirked an eyebrow. "Getting in a round of haunting?"

"Sure."

"Just make sure you leave time to pack."

Erik snorted as he eyed their messy room. "I don't think that's _my _problem, Brooke."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Random Paris pub**

Algy sat at his usual booth in some random Paris pub, sipping an Earl Grey tea. As usual, his detective work at the Paris Opera House revealed nothing significant about the true identities of the theatre's haunts. _Maybe I'm wrong about the connection between the Lerouxs and the opera's ghosts?, _the detective thought, _Maybe I should just give her up for loss? _His eyes darkened. Never once in his life had Algy ever known the disappointment of losing a woman to another man. Oh, there were women, like Cecily, who resisted his charms, but only because they were too smart for him. This was different. The beguiling redhead obviously had strong feelings for that strange guardian of hers. Algy bristled at the very idea of it.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Dominic and Jacques Cheney.

"Well, if it isn't our very own gumshoe!" Dom bawled.

Algy offered the boorish brothers a smirk and concentrated on his drink. His cold disinterest didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey, now, Dom, I think Algy here is still brooding over that little Mlle. Leroux giving him the cold shoulder," Jacques said with a snigger.

Algy slammed his glass down on the table. "Will you two just bugger off?"

Dom held up his hands in defense. "All right, throw your hissy fit. See if we tell you about a delightful little weekend getaway involving a private country house, with plenty of rooms and certain red-haired lady."

The Cheney boys pretended to turn away, but Algy called them back. "What are you talking about?"

Jacques laughed again and the detective got a blast of reeking breath in his handsome face.

"Tonight we're picking up two very amiable young ladies and heading out to the family house just outside the city. 'Twas Cecily's idea. Of course, she doesn't know about our two female guests, but the more the merrier, eh?" Jacques said.

"Yes, yes," Algy snapped, "Now what about Anna Leroux?"

"She'll be there with her sister and M. Leroux and the Vicomte de Chagny," explained Dom.

"I see."

"So? Fancy joining us?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Raoul's carriage, on the way to Cecily's house…**

"I hate you. Both of you," Erik grumbled.

"You don't hate us," Brooke replied. "You're just too stubborn to admit that we've done you a favor."

Raoul buried his face in Brooke's hair to keep from laughing. Poor Erik had returned to the lair after his mysterious business errand only to find that the cousins had stolen all of his spare masks and redecorated them.

"Trust me, Erik," Anna said as she admired the gold Welsh dragon painted on the half black mask he now wore, "People will be a lot less intimidated of you and, hopefully, less intrusive if they think you're just an ugly, eccentric genius with one hell of a voice."

"As opposed to what?"

"An ugly, psychopathic killer with a vendetta against the whole of Paris."

Raoul lost control and began howling with laughter. Erik shot the nobleman a fiery glare. "I don't know why you're so amused, M. le Vicomte. They'll be after you next."

The rest of the journey passed with a good deal of silence. Brooke and Raoul slipped into that strange lovers' realm where the only other person in existence is the beloved. They whispered quietly and smiled often. The flash of Brooke's ring frequently drew her gaze to her left hand. The Vicomte had presented her with the elegant family heirloom just two days earlier. A large sapphire shone in the middle of a circle of diamonds. The brunette sighed in contentment and nestled against her fiancé's chest.

At the other side of the carriage Anna and Erik sat in total silence, each one staring out at the countryside flashing past the windows. Erik was only prepping himself for the idea of spending a weekend among friends, but Anna was deep in thought on a very serious decision.

Erik's rant about Algy had stuck in her mind all night. She hated the idea of Erik's life being ruined just because she gave some cocky jerk the brush-off. She knew that she had only to flirt with the detective to get him to give up his search for the opera ghosts and then Erik could emerge into society with greater ease. Her heart trembled at the idea of throwing herself at a man she so detested. In fact, it almost made her sick right then and there. She glanced at the masked man sitting beside her. He'd hate her for it, but what else could be done? She loved him too much to let him stay in the shadows forever when he should have had the world at his feet in awe of his beautiful music. Yes, her mind was made up. She would sacrifice everything and let him live.

But…the sacrifice could wait until they next saw Algy in Paris. Anna shifted in her seat so she could snuggle up to Erik. She had developed the habit of snuggling the Phantom a long time ago when it annoyed him, so it was nothing new in that sense. But as Erik returned the snuggle and pulled her closer, Anna felt she might cry. She buried her face in his shirt to hide her emotions. He would loathe her very existence, but at least she had one last weekend with Erik.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Cecily's country manor…**

_What the hell is he doing here? _Anna's mind screamed. Standing in the parlor of Cecily's home was none other than Algernon himself, grinning like a tomcat on the prowl. Anna's eyes flew to Cecily's. The raven-haired woman looked as though she had bitten a lemon. Obviously, this surprised her as much as Anna.

"Pleasure to see you here, Mlle. Leroux," he purred as she stupidly allowed him to kiss her hand.

_What do I do?! Start flirting? I'm not ready for this! _Anna wanted to run out of the room, tearing her hair. A fleeting glance at Erik only confused her further. His displeasure in Algy's presence was clear, yet he seemed supremely smug and confident about the whole thing. _Doesn't he care?_

Anna swallowed her nerves and gave Algy a smile. "I didn't know you were going to be here, M. Moncreiff."

"Neither did I," Cecily snarled. She turned to Anna with an apologetic look.

To make matters worse it turned out that the Cheney brothers' unexpected female guests were none other than the air-headed bimbos they'd met at Perros: Lizette Lohan and Hilaire Duff. The two Parisian heiresses, unaware of the Vicomte's engagement to Brooke, immediately glued themselves to Raoul. The brunette vicomtess-to-be fumed.

For what seemed like endless hours they were all trapped in the parlor together: the vulgar people tormenting the un-vulgar people to distraction. The Cheney brothers downed tumbler after tumbler of fine brandy and made every embarrassing comment they could think of, Cecily remained red as a ripe tomato, Raoul cringed under the glare of his yet-to-be-announced fiancée while Lizette and Hilaire heaved their cleavage in his face, Algy continued to harass Anna who was dumbstruck by her inability to either flirt back or slap him, and Erik stood in a corner hating his life (but that was normal for him, at least). In reality this all took place over a matter of fifteen minutes.

At last, the butler announced that the new arrivals' rooms were ready to receive their occupants.

"Fabulous!" Cecily cried in a voice on the verge of hysteria. "Let's all get a good night's sleep. I'll show everyone to their rooms."

They all trooped out after her. When the group of mismatched companions reached the stairs, Anna finally decided to go through with her plan. Even while she was mentally cursing herself she began to return Algy's attentions—much to the horror of Cecily, Raoul, Brooke, and, of course, Erik.

"I'm sorry to have not seen you more often in Paris," she said gaily.

Algy, surprised by her schizophrenic switch in attitude, stammered, "Yes, well, I've been spending a good deal of time working on my cases."

Anna's eye brightened (in a terribly fake cheerful way). "Oh, like what? Detectives have _always _fascinated me."

The stupid man took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. "Well," he whispered seductively in her ear, "I've been spending a good deal of time at the Opera House."

He thought this would catch her off guard and, thus, answer some of his curiosity about her true identity, but Anna didn't even blanche.

"Really? Are you solving a murder mystery or, perhaps, recovering the diva's stolen jewels?" she asked in breathless anticipation, leaning into him just slightly as they followed Cecily down the hall. Anna repressed a shuddered at the physical contact.

"I've been hunting for the opera ghosts."

"Really? Aren't you afraid you might get hurt?" she asked with a pout.

Algy let out a manly laugh. "I've been in plenty of dangerous situations, Mlle. Leroux. It doesn't phase me in the slightest."

Anna only raised an eyebrow. She wondered how Algy's macho bravado would hold up amidst the sweltering heat of Erik's torture chamber. Oddly enough, Erik himself was thinking the same thing as he stalked along behind them, fingering the Punjab lasso in his pocket.

It was Cecily who broke up the conversation. "This is your room, Anna. And Brooke's."

Anna remained in the hall long enough to wish everyone good night before bolting through the open door. She forced herself to avoid Erik's eyes, but Brooke didn't. She saw the look that followed her cousin. It was one of absolute heartbreak and rage.

"What is Anna doing?" Raoul whispered in her ear.

"I don't know, but I'll find out. In the meantime you'd better behave yourself," Brooke replied with a warning glance.

Raoul's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Me? Behave? That's a tall order, especially when you're just a few rooms away."

Brooke blushed, bid everyone goodnight, and ducked into the room. The minute the door shut, she attacked Anna.

"Since when did you start _flirting _with Algy?" she hissed. "Did you see the look in Erik's eyes."

Anna wrung her hands in agony. "No! How could I?"

"Well, I did. And it wasn't good. You remember how he looked when we first saw his bare face?"

The redhead paled. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. Only this was worse. You just freaking broke his heart!" Brooke was shouting now. Her cousin's behavior utterly bewildered her. It hurt her, not only on Erik's behalf, but also because she felt Anna was keeping something from her. The brunette's anger abated, however, when Anna slumped onto the bed, crying softly.

"It's not like I'm _enjoying _this," Anna hiccupped.

"Then why—oh, no, don't tell me you're doing what I think you're doing."

Anna nodded. "How else do we get that idiot off our tails? He's only after us because I snub him." Just as she imagined all the implications of losing Erik's trust and love, Anna really broke down in tears.

Brooke rushed over to the bed to comfort her cousin. "Anna, you shouldn't do this. There has to be another way to get Algy to lay off."

"Well, when you come with an idea that doesn't involve murder, let me know. But, of course, it'd probably be too late by then." This brought on a new wave of sobs.

Brooke tried to think of another way to dissuade Anna from her present course of action. "You're doing this so Erik can live a normal life, right?"

Anna nodded.

Brooke continued, "How on earth do expect him to crawl out of his tormented shell if you do this? It'll only drive him further into the shadows and then it will all have been pointless."

"I thought of that, but I guess I hoped he'd understand somehow."

Brooke highly doubted the possibility of Erik understanding why the woman he loved had suddenly attached herself to a man she despised with her every breath, but she tried a new angle. This one hit home.

"You know, this is just the sort of thing Ophelia would do."

There was silence for a moment before Anna shot off the bed. She stared at Brooke with a look of pure disgust. "The _Mary Sue?!" _she screamed.

Brooke remained calm. "Yes. Don't Sues totally go for the whole sacrifice-on-the-alter-of-twu-wuv sort of deal? I mean, it's really melodramatic."

"_Merde!" _Anna slapped a palm to her forehead. With a loud groan she sank back onto the bed. "I can't undo it _now." _

Brooke waved it off. "I'm sure you can think of a way to tell Algy—nicely, of course—that you still think he's a pompous cockscomb. It's patching it up with Erik that I'd worry about."

Just then the bedroom door flew open. Both cousins shrieked in surprise as Lizette and Hilaire waltzed in.

"Time for hide and seek, everybody!" Hilaire announced with noxious bubbliness.

"What? Are you crazy?" Brooke snapped.

"We're having a private conversation if you don't mind. Besides, we're exhausted and it's late," Anna growled. She tried to shove the two intruders out the door, but suddenly found that she was the one being flung out into the hallway.

"No excuses!" Lizette said in that sexily breathless way of hers.

"It'll be fun!" Hilaire squealed as she dragged Brooke along with her. The obnoxious duo succeeded in rounding up everyone, excepting M. Leroux, who rather scared them. It was, as Anna had grumpily pointed out, an absurdly late hour, but Lizette and Hilaire were determined to make scandalous use of every moment they got away from home. Cecily looked pathetically resigned to the fact that she was no longer in charge of her own home.

"All right, here's how we're going to play," Hilaire chirped. "All of the gentlemen will hide somewhere in the house and each lady will seek the gentleman of her choice."

"That's it?" asked a very peeved Raoul. "What happens after that?"

Lizette seductively arched her well-groom eyebrows. "It's up to you."

"Everyone understand?" Hilaire squeaked. No one answered, so she took that as a collective 'yes.' "Get to hiding, then, gentlemen! You have to the count of two hundred."

The Cheney brothers gleefully charged out the door, Raoul begrudgingly followed. Algy stopped just a moment to whisper something to Anna, but Lizette shooed him away before he could tell her where he'd be hiding. After a long time Hilaire finally managed to correctly count to two hundred.

"Happy hunting, girls!" she quipped as she bounced out of sight. Brooke heard her whisper something about 'pinning that alluring Vicomte' to Lizette.

"Oh, no you don't," she snarled as she raced out of the room, leaving Cecily and Anna behind.

"Shall we?" Cecily motioned to the door.

"Yippee-ki-ay," Anna muttered. She desperately hoped that she wouldn't run into Algy. Maybe if she just went back to her room. Struck with the brilliance of her own idea, the redhead ran for the stairs. She had almost reached her destination when a door opened and a pair of strong arms jerked her inside. She almost screamed when she found herself in a pitch-black room…save for the two eerie pinpoints of light floating above her.

"Erik!"

"Would you mind explaining that disgusting display of flirtation?" the Phantom asked. Her blood chilled at the deadly tone in his voice. "I must admit I didn't expected such vapidity from _you!" _

Suddenly Anna burst into fresh tears. She reached out towards him, but sensed him moving away from her. So she backed up until her legs hit a couch, causing her to fall onto it.

"I was only doing it for you," she sobbed.

"For _me?" _Erik yelled. He struck a match and lit a single candle sitting on the fireplace mantle. In its feeble glow he could see Anna huddled on the couch, looking positively miserable.

"I thought m-maybe he'd leave the opera g-ghost thing alone. Then y-you'd have a chance," she whimpered. She cringed, waiting for the next scathing comment, but instead, she heard Erik's melodic laughter. Her head shot up to see an unmasked Phantom clinging to the mantle as he snickered uncontrollably. It wasn't his sarcastic laugh. He actually thought there was something funny about Anna willingly sacrificing all of her happiness and dignity for the sake of his future. Her brown eyes narrowed.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

Erik's eyes danced with mirth as he replied between laughs, "It's just that the Vicomte and I have already settled the matter."

Anna jumped to her feet. "What!"

"Yes, Raoul will simply use his clout with the managers to get them to throw Algy off the premises. He's going to tell them he's just making everything up so he can seduce ballet rats."

Feeling like she was losing her mind, Anna grabbed two handfuls of her hair and screeched in fury. This only made Erik laugh harder.

"Really, my dear, it was quite noble of you to step into the line of fire." At that the Angel of Music found himself the target of a barrage of pillows.

"That's just rich!" Anna screamed. "You were just ready to bite my head off for flirting with that moronic detective, but since you've gotten everything under control, you think it's cute."

"Anna, please—" Erik easily deflected the pillows as he began moving toward her.

The incensed redhead ranted on. "—With no consideration to how _I _felt, throwing myself at a man I hate, pretending to actually _like _him, when I'm in love with _you!"_

The atmosphere of the room changed in an instant. Erik caught the last pillow, his eyes fixed on the woman before him. Anna stood stock-still in shock with a hand clamped over her mouth and her own wide eyes returning Erik's gaze. She shrank back as he approached.

"Did you mean that?" he asked, his voice tense.

Anna lowered her hand. "You know the answer to that."

Erik's mind was having an internal shouting match with his heart.

_Don't make any sudden moves until she answers!_

_**What are you waiting for? That's invitation enough.**_

_No! Get it in writing. You can never be too sure she's telling the truth. That's how it always is._

_**Oh, come, on! Show some backbone!**_

_Just back away. Give yourself some time to think about this._

_**You've BEEN thinking this thing to death. Just kiss her already!**_

Before he could change his mind, Erik grabbed Anna by her shoulders and pulled her close. He lowered his head as she tilted hers up and lightly pressed his lips to hers. Drawing back to gauge her reaction, Erik received the shock of his life when Anna threw her arms around his neck and dragged him back down for a significantly less chaste kiss.

It lit him on fire, but he didn't want to ruin everything by being imprudent. Finally, he pushed her away, wincing at the hurt look in her eyes.

"Anna," he said through ragged breathing. "I am in love with you. Please, please be my wife."

The volume of her shriek of joy nearly shattered the windows. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" She threw herself into his arms. "Did you think I'd say no?"

"Well, I didn't expect you to be _this _happy about it. I think you've permanently damaged my hearing."

Anna leaned back to catch his gaze with a playful look of her own. "So how long have you been in love with me?"

"I think it started when the imposter arrived in Perros. And you? How long have you…" Erik couldn't finish.

"Loved you? It's all right. You can say it. Repeat after me, 'Anna loves me.'"

Erik smiled sheepishly, but obeyed. "Anna loves me." Quiet tears of happiness began to trickle down his misshapen face. He buried his head in her hair and Anna let him cry as she rest her head on his shoulder. Her body language was all comfort and support, but her mind was running in a different vein.

_OMG, he's a good kisser…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Else where in the house…**

Brooke threw open the library doors. Sure enough, she found her beloved huddled in a corner, trapped by the voluptuous bodies of Lizette and Hilaire.

The bubbly blonde turned to see who had disturbed them. "Oh, Brooke, darling, you'll have to find someone else, darling. M. de Chagny's taken."

Before Brooke could utter a snide reply, flash her ring, or strangle them both, Raoul shoved his way past his captors and rushed toward her. To the utmost surprise of the ditzy duo, the normally reserved Vicomte snatched up the brunette and planted a steamy kiss directly on her mouth.

When he finally let Brooke come up for air, she looked at their audience with a dazed, yet triumphant smile, "Guess you'd better keep seeking, girls."

Angry and insulted, Lizette and Hilaire stormed off in a huff.

"You'd better go, too," Raoul said huskily.

"Why?" Brooke pouted.

"Because if you don't I'm going to take advantage of you."

Brooke gave him once last kiss before escaping his all-too-eager grasp.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Someone e-mailed me or reviewed asking if they could draw pictures of the event in _Phantom Companions. _I can't remember who it was, but if you're still inclined to do so, go for it.


	67. Everybody Scream!

Disclaimer: Don't own POTO

A/N: Aw! Thanks for the warm welcome back, everyone! It was wonderful to hear from some familiar "faces." Hope you enjoy this next installment. Only a few more to go.

Cheers,

Misty

XXXXXXXXXXX

Everybody Scream!

Erik sauntered down the dark corridors of the opera house cellars, softly whistling a little tune of his own creation. As of late the Phantom had acquired a new spring in his step and a fresh outlook on his future, all due to a certain redhead. He looked forward to returning to the lair for a pleasant supper with his fiancée and future cousin-in-law. I won't say that Erik expected it to be a quiet affair. Events involving Anna and Brooke rarely were, but he looked forward to it nonetheless.

In any case, he certainly had some interesting news for them. Apparently, Raoul had done his work properly and succeeded in bullying the managers into banishing Algernon Moncrieff from the premises. That was the good news. The interesting news was that Christine was beside herself with jealousy over the new understudy Ophelia, who had sung her gloriously perfect way into the hearts of everyone around her and won a chance to sing in Christine's place for one night while the diva was away. Erik was rather perturbed at this upstart of an understudy, but as long as she did the music justice he couldn't care less if they'd found her digging for garbage in the slums. From all that Anna and Brooke had taught him about Mary Sues, he recalled that they actually rarely needed any tutelage whatsoever and that music lessons between a Sue and a Phantom were merely the catalysts to steamy sex.

Erik reached the door to the lair in good time and not a moment too soon as his grumbling stomach reminded him. His appetite had improved greatly since meeting the cousins. Envisioning a delicious meal, Erik smiled beneath his mask as he stepped inside...only to be promptly assaulted…by the Vicomte de Chagny.

"Vicomte! What the bloody hell—"

"They've gone mad! And they insist on dragging us along!" Raoul shrieked, gripping Erik's lapels.

Erik removed his mask to smile condescendingly on Raoul's obvious inexperience in dealing with the rambunctious duo.

"Don't give me that smug smirk of yours, Erik. You're in for a worse time of it than I am."

Erik's ugly face fell. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Look!" Raoul pointed behind him towards the inner rooms of the lair. The whole place was transformed. Where once soft, faded Victorian pink and elegant antique furniture had reigned supreme, a macabre Burtonesque extravaganza filled the room. Erik gaped in horror at the bizarre and grotesque decorations. Just then the kitchen door swung open and a dead bride waltzed out carrying a pot of boiling blood.

She sang: _This is Halloween! This is Halloween! _

_Pumpkins scream in the dead of night._

Her skin was an eerie blue and although her deteriorating dress did wonders for her curves, the exposed bones and skeletal face were a little too much to handle. Suddenly she caught sight of the two men cowering in the doorway.

Her strange face lit up with a smile. "Happy Halloween!"

Erik's rigid body sagged in relief when he realized it was only Brooke and the pot of blood was only chili. "What the devil have you done to my home?" He hastily detached himself from the Vicomte's frantic grip.

"We're getting in the mood."

"For what, dare I ask?"

"Haunting! It's All Hallow's Eve, gentlemen."

"Of course. Oh for goodness sake, Vicomte, man up! She's _your_ betrothed. _**EEEK**_!" Erik screamed in surprise when he spied the redheaded Franksteinian rag doll grinning up at him with a wide smile made of black thread.

"Well, this is a bit of a role-reversal, isn't it?" said the rag doll as she straightened her patchwork dress.

"Anna?"

"Yes?"

"What are you?"

"I'm Sally the Rag Doll! From _Nightmare Before Christmas. _I'm pretty sure we've forced you to watch that at least once."

Erik nodded. "Then what's Brooke supposed to be?"

"She's Emily the Corpse Bride and Raoul is supposed to Victor. Luckily, his wardrobe already fits the part. All Brooke had to do was restyle his hair."

For the first time that night Erik realized that Raoul's hair was unusually unkempt. He watched in amusement as the Vicomte tried to come to grips with the fact that his wife-to-be was a little off her rocker.

"Well?" Anna said.

"Well, what?" Erik glanced down at his fiancée with a quizzical look.

"Time for you to change into _your_ costume."

All color drained from the Phantom's already pallid face. He managed a hoarse whisper, "_What _costume?"

Anna grinned her eerie, unnatural smile once more. "Follow me," she quipped as she led her poor husband-to-be off to the master bedroom.

Brooke bustled into the kitchen and returned with a vat of hot apple cider. An intoxicating aroma of cloves and cinnamon filled the air and Raoul began to relax. The corpse bride handed him a cup full of the spiced (and spiked) drink, watching with an amused look as he down it as fast as the hot liquid would allow. He helped himself to three more glasses. Needless to say, Raoul was feeling _very _relaxed and _very _uninhibited.

"My lord, you look delicious in that dress," he purred in Brooke's ear.

She giggled, "I'm supposed to be a decaying corpse, my dear. Nothing delicious about that."

Raoul blinked blearily at her strapless sweetheart neckline. It left little to the imagination. Not to mention the fact that nearly all of her left leg—blue though it was—had been exposed by a long gash in the skirt of her dress.

"I would beg to differ," he growled. Despite his tipsiness, the Vicomte had little trouble in pinning Brooke against the nearest wall and proving his point.

XXXXXXXXXXX

**Later…**

"If you laugh one more time, Vicomte, I _will _Punjab you," Erik hissed.

Raoul muffled a giggle with his hand. A hiccup escaped the intoxicated (and rumpled) nobleman. Glancing at Erik once more Raoul couldn't help snickering. From head to foot, Erik was decked out for Halloween as none other than Jack Skellington. Although Raoul was too drunk to appreciate the effect of the costume it did actually lend Erik an even more enigmatic air. Anna had done little to alter the Phantom's already-skeletal face. She had only bullied him into wearing the pumpkin king's signature suit.

Raoul belched. The sound reverberated around the opera house's auditorium. Erik sniffed disdainfully. They were standing in the wings of the stage watching the madness of Halloween unfold. There had been no performance that night, but the occupants of the Opera Populaire were wide-awake nonetheless.

Ballet rats and stagehands ran screaming through the corridors of building with the citizens of Halloween Town hard on their heels. Sally and the Corpse Bride commanded an army of grisly ghouls from their respective films, all compliments of the Poppins Bag. Banshees, werewolves, vampires, ghosts, and walking corpses flooded every hall and corner of the opera house, leaving no one at rest.

Anna whooped happily as she skipped through the backstage area. She soaked up every shriek that echoed around her. Giddy with excitement she sang loudly:

_Boys and girls of every age,_

_Wouldn't you like to see something strange?_

_Come with us and you will see_

_This our town of Halloween!_

_This is Halloween! This is Halloween!_

_Pumpkins scream in the dead of night._

_This is Halloween! Everybody make a scene!_

She was engaged to marry the man she adored and she was the queen of macabre terror. Nothing could detach her from her euphoric happiness. Nothing! Nothing save…

…the sickening sight of her beloved Jack Skellington standing almost toe-to-toe with Ophelia the Mary Sue in the center of the stage.

Anna froze. She saw them from the side so the faces of both were plainly visible to her. Poor Erik looked absolutely befuddled, but the Sue…the Sue was trembling with thinly veiled desire as she gazed unabashedly into the face of her beloved Angel of Music.

"At last, my love, I have found you," she panted in an achingly beautiful voice.

Erik twitched.

"I've longed to find you. I must tell you," here she paused, demurely lowering her luminous violet eyes as a becoming blush bloomed in her cheeks, "I am with child."

Anna stiffened. Erik blinked. "Um…congratulations?"

Ophelia locked eyes with him once more. "Oh my poor, unhappy Erik, don't you realize—"

"I'm hardly unhappy, madam," Erik snapped, edging a little further away from the strange girl.

If possible, her face lit up even more, "Oh, I thought surely you would be devastated and think that the child would grow up as miserable as you, my love."

Erik blinked rapidly. "Why on _earth _would I think that?"

"Because you are the father!" Ophelia cried.

In the wings of the stage Anna nearly fainted. She found herself unexpectedly upheld by Raoul, who was holding himself up by clinging precariously to the curtain.

"Steady, old girl," he murmured, "Give him the benefit of the doubt."

Anna glanced back at the horrific scene in front of her. She was suddenly filled with pity for Erik. His face expressed absolute bewilderment. The spikes of his collar drooped ever so slightly.

"But," he stammered, "How could—I mean, we've never—I'm still a—what in the name of all physiological impossibilities are you on?"

Ophelia gazed at him with a look of tender compassion. Gently she cupped his baffled face in her dainty, delicate white hands. "Oh, Erik, the fire of our love knows no bounds." With that she raised herself up on tiptoe and brought their faces closer together. Erik's eyes widened in terror, but he never felt Ophelia's lips on his.

Maddened with rage, Anna came flying out onto the stage and tackled Ophelia to the ground.

"You wretched cow!" the redhead shrieked. "He's _mine!" _

A catfight of epic proportions ensued. Unfortunately for Anna her opponent, in addition to being practically perfect in appearance and vocal talents, just happened to be well trained in self-defense. Unfortunately for Ophelia _her _opponent was rather deranged and certainly pissed off, thus she felt no qualms about violating any and all rules of fair play. They were evenly matched.

The commotion caught the attention of the Corpse Bride who was stalking stagehands through the catwalks.

"Uh, oh…looks like we're going to need help."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Misty pulled the Gerry up from his beanbag. "Darling, we've got a crisis on our hands," she announced.

"It's the Sue, isn't it?" he replied with a hard gleam in his eyes.

Misty nodded grimly, "Yes, we're going to need reinforcements. Socks!"

Two patrol socks popped up out of nowhere, ready to do their Authoress's bidding.

She handed them a parchment note. "Pin this up in minion HQ."

The note read as follows:

_All right, me hardies!_

_We've got a Sue to crush, grind into tiny pieces, and blast into oblivion. The first fifteen minions to volunteer for this mission will be included in the next chapter. _

_It may get ugly. So be prepared. _

_Your obedient servant,_

_M.B.  
_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Disclaimer: Don't own _Nightmare Before Christmas _or _The Corpse Bride. _


End file.
